There and Back
by Magali1
Summary: Sequel to 'Family Ties.' Tim and Sophie both deal with returns of family members they thought long gone; Sophie is keeping a secret from Tim and Lyla; and Lyla is just trying to make things 'better.' Tim, Lyla, Sophie (OC), Billy, Mindy, Buddy, Angela, Tyra, and Coach Taylor all appear, along with others.
1. Tim's Dark Day

**A/N**: So this is the sequel to 'Family Ties.' It will probably be slightly shorter, despite having three POVs. It also doesn't get as...dark as the previous one did, but we'll see. It's about 25% complete, I'll post every couple of days, definitely not every day for awhile yet. Enjoy :)

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**Chapter 1: Tim's Dark Day**

Someone was pulling on his hair.

Tim shifted in the bed, tugging the blanket further over his head. He didn't like today. He wanted to sleep. He had plans to just hide away all day today, not let anyone bug him…

"Honey, no, stop that, remember what I said?"

He heard the soft voice, somewhere in the back of his mind, among the strange memories that always came up on this day, mottled together, and some of them probably not even real, as time passed, they all got messed up. He shoved his head deeper into the pile of pillows.

The creature that had been tugging on his hair protested. "Why Mommy?"

"Remember what I told you yesterday, sweetie? This is Daddy's dark day, we don't bother him, come on, let's go downstairs."

Thank you Garrity, he thought, but now he felt like a total tool. He was ignoring his kid, who just wanted to wake him up. Knowing the urchin, it was probably three in the morning. Talk about a night owl. She slept all day and was up from about ten to four before she passed out again.

I need to get my kid on a schedule.

He closed his eyes, trying to fall back asleep again, only for the monitor on the bedside to go off, the three-month old beginning to whine, before the full fledged screams let the rest of the house know that he was hungry.

Great. Five a.m. feeding.

A light touch stroked at his hair when he shifted, to get up and turn down the monitor. "Shh," she breathed, leaning over him. Out of the corner of a half-opened eye, he spied the monitor in her hand. He closed his eyes again. Lyla dropped a kiss to his temple, rubbing lightly at his shoulder. "Go back to sleep. I'll deal with our monsters."

He had to smile slightly at that comment. Yes, they were monsters.

I'm exhausted, he thought briefly, burrowing into the bed again. The night before he'd spent it drinking with Billy. Not a good call, especially since neither of them drank much anymore. He had three, which normally would have been him getting started, but now that he was an old man who went to bed early and had kids, he hadn't been able to have anything else.

Daddy's Dark Day. Funny how she put it in those terms. It kind of was.

Funny how a five-year old could understand it too.

He was drifting off again, pushing out thoughts of…everything, when the phone buzzed. Twice. Buzzed twice, until "Bad to the Bone" began to play, loudly. He hadn't been able to change it either. "Come on," he mumbled, throwing off the blankets and grabbing his phone.

"What?"

"Nice to hear your voice as well. Can you pick me up?"

He hit his head back down on the pillow, but he missed and got the headboard. Ouch. He scrubbed his hand over his face, the coolness of the wedding ring on his left hand pressing into his forehead. "Um…dunno if you know this, but I can't really fly to London to pick you up."

"I'm not in London, I'm in New York, I'll be in Dillon around two."

Two. Yeah, he could get her. He threw the covers off completely, getting out of the bed and shuffling to the closet, yawning. "How was your flight?" he managed to get out, hearing his jaw crack. He lifted his arm up, stretching it over his head; hearing more pops in his bad shoulder.

God, I am getting so old, he lamented, dragging a shirt from one of the half-opened drawers of his dresser. He peered deeper into it, swearing his hand brushed over something alive.

The puppy was sleeping on his shirts. In the dresser. Wow.

He left it open, listening to his little sister bitch about how much she hated traveling coach. "Well you know, Sophie, you wanted to be on your own," he said, interrupting her. He dropped the phone onto the bed, hitting speaker and tugging the t-shirt on.

Sophie's voice filtered up, muffled slightly from the speakerphone option. "Yeah, well, you know I'm starting to wonder why I did that in the first place."

"Because you're independent," he said, quoting what she'd told them on her 18th birthday, when she'd rejected any continued assistance from them while she was in New York at Julliard. He pushed his fingers through his hair, walking back over to crash backwards onto the bed, staring at the two-toned painted ceiling.

He really had to fix that.

The little sister who had turned into his pseudo-daughter, who had turned back into a very annoying sister, cracked her gum. She was 22 now, but still acted like she was five. "So you're coming back today?" he whispered; he knew why.

Sophie was quiet for a moment. They could call it Sophie's Dark Day too. She cleared her throat. "We can go right after you pick me up."

"Okay."

"Billy gonna' be there?"

Billy did his own thing on this day. He had summer conditioning and training and all other assorted football stuff to work on today. Knowing Billy, he probably didn't even remember this was the day. He worked through it or pretended it didn't happen.

Meanwhile, I seem to just sit in it, Tim thought, reaching to lift his hand into the air, seeing the sunlight creeping in through the slit in the curtains play off his silver wedding ring. He still couldn't get used to this thing. Seven years. Holy crap, it had been seven years already.

Felt like yesterday, to be honest.

Sophie didn't wait for him to answer, probably because she knew that he wasn't going to answer. "London sucks, by the way. It's cold."

Yeah, well I warned you that it rained there. He wanted her to stay in New York. The American Ballet Theatre had offered her a spot in their company; she had to take the one in England, with the Royal Ballet, where she'd already been in two productions as prima ballerina.

He'd seen one of her performances; she was good.

Although he didn't like London. It was cold. It rained.

"You love it," he sighed. He really didn't want to talk; unfortunately for him, Sophie hadn't inherited that gene. When she got upset or nervous, she started to talk to fill silence. Plus, she was probably bored.

"How are my babies?"

Tim smiled, closing his eyes, mumbling. "They're not your babies, they're my babies." When Sophie was seven, she'd told him she wanted a little brother or sister to take care of, same as he was taking care of her. He'd had to explain, in vague terms at the time, that that wasn't possible anymore. So she'd requested a niece or nephew.

Which she wouldn't have gotten, because she hated all the women he'd dated. Tyra had come back for Stevie's birthday, before Thanksgiving one year, and Sophie had told her that she'd accept a niece or nephew if Tyra wanted to give it a shot and marry him.

Tyra had just laughed and been unable to stop for a full ten minutes. Which he didn't think was very funny.

Sophie was probably rolling her eyes at him right now; he could see it in his head. "And they're my babies too, I miss them so much. I bet Max is like the size of a house now."

Max had already been the size of a house when he was born, at ten pounds and twenty-four inches long; so he was basically like a toddler now. Not really, but he was huge for his age. Twelve weeks old already, Tim thought, damn. Sophie had been there just for the birth, to help take care of Annie.

Who, unlike Sophie had been at her age, was not thrilled with the idea of a little brother when she'd specifically asked for a sister. In fact, she'd made it perfectly clear to them she was running away if they had a baby at all.

Lyla had packed her a little bag, set it in the front hall, and said that she could go if she felt like it. Annie had stared her down for about ten minutes, before she grabbed her bag and stormed back upstairs to her room.

He sighed, covering his face with his hand, whispering. "When's your flight leave?"

"Couple hours. You done talking? Go hang with your kids. I don't know why you try to hide away."

I don't hide away, I just don't like dealing with people.

Sophie groaned. "I'll talk to you later. I'll call when I land. Tell the babies I'll see them soon!"

"Will do."

"Later bro."

Tim hung up, tossing the phone aside. He closed his eyes, breathing deep. It was still so damn early. She tended to forget those things when she called. At least it wasn't like when she was in Moscow, for that internship thing whatever it was back when she was in high school. For about three months she'd called them after her day ended, but his was just beginning.

Until she got there, he wouldn't go to the cemetery. It was their thing; they did it together. He'd find something else to do, maybe he'd go work on some of the furniture he had out in the barn. Or he'd just go do some work at one of the construction sites.

Or maybe he'd just lay here some more.

The door creaked open, little feet padding across the hardwood floor. He waited until the small, sticky hands were patting at his face. "Wake up," the voice whispered, like it was a secret between the both of them.

He opened an eye, trying not to smile as the little face peered over him, hazel eyes bright and open wide. "Who are you?" he asked.

"I'm me."

"And who is that?"

Annie giggled, leaning against his chest with her forearms, her little hands folding together. "It's Annie!"

"Annie!" He wrapped his arm around her waist, tugging her over him, pursing his lips as she pursed hers, pecking lightly. He nuzzled his nose against hers, whispering. "What are you doing up so early?"

"Can't sleep."

Yeah, well neither can Daddy, apparently. He smiled slightly, his palm going to cup Annie's soft cheek. The curls that framed her face were almost pitch black, kind of like Lyla's hair. She looked like a miniature Snow White. Daddy's Dark Day. Yet she still wanted to be here.

I love you, he thought, wrapping his arms around her, holding her against his stomach. She lifted her feet in the air, swinging them back and forth, folding her arms over his chest, her eyes fixated on his.

He crossed them. She crossed hers. He pursed his lips like a fish. She pursed hers. He wrinkled his nose. She wrinkled hers.

Until she couldn't help but start to giggle, that happy, bubbly little giggle. It kind of made his toes tingle. He nuzzled her nose again, smiling. I always feel kind of like crap, I don't want to do anything, always on this day, but yeah…you kind of make it go away.

At least until he left her in the house and went about his day.

Your grandma would have loved you, he thought briefly, kissing her cheek. "Come on, let's go find you some food, I bet you haven't eaten yet."

"I'm hungry. How come Max eats first?"

Because Max eats from something that Daddy can't really help with and you don't start screaming like someone chopped off your arm if you didn't get it when you wanted it. He liked to think his son was a bit of a chip off the old block when it came to that.

He swung Annie from the bed into his arms, groaning a little as he felt his back crack. Old. Very, very old, that's what he was becoming. Whose idea was it to have children?

Oh, right, that was both of them. With Annie at least. It was neither of their decision to have Max. He'd been a bit of a surprise, since Garrity hadn't realized that she wasn't going through The Change, as she called it, but was in fact, pregnant.

Should have gone to medical school, maybe you'd know the difference, he'd teased her. She'd gotten back at him for that.

He carried Annie down the stairs and into the kitchen. Once upon a time ago, when Lyla had first sort of 'moved in', back in that summer when Sophie first came into his life, he hadn't had anything. Now the Sub-Zero fridge he'd had his eye on was covered in photos, charts, photographs, calendars, invitations, and reminders.

Annie had spelled out "B-U-T-T" with her alphabet magnets the night before. He had to switch that up to something else before Lyla saw it. Maybe like "I LUV MOMMY" or something, like he had when she'd spelled out "P-O-O-P" a couple days ago.

Who was teaching her these words? He was fairly certain it was Ricky and Nicky, although he had no proof. Mindy insisted her sons were angels. Tim insisted they were not. Billy just stayed out of it.

He messed up the magnets, which had Annie frowning. "Spell something nice," he chided her, moving the letters around. "How about…" He put an L and a Y together, but Annie had something else in mind.

"Max," she spelled, pointing out the letters. She turned her head, scowling. "I don't like him."

Thanks for the reminder.

"He cries."

"So did you." How many times did they have to go through this thing? He opened up the fridge, taking out milk and walking over to the pantry, his mini-me following suit. "What do you want?"

"I don't care."

Of course you don't. Tim grabbed Cheerios, because she had been over-doing it on Lucky Charms. It was barely six; he wasn't going to have her hopped up on sugar before he'd even had a cup of coffee.

He loved his daughter, but she could sometimes be a handful. Especially since Max came along; jealousy, Tyra reminded him. She was jealous. She'd been the only child, she'd been doted, and now she didn't have anyone there to confide to, like she had before, with Sophie.

As much as he wanted to take her to the airport later to see Sophie, he knew that wouldn't be the best thing. He knew Sophie wanted to just get to the cemetery; get it all over with, and then relax for however long she had away from the company.

Tim shoved the coffee pot under the sink to fill with water while he got out the stupid pink bowl that Annie would start crying about if she didn't get her cereal in it; it was always the pink bowl, had to be the pink bowl, one time the pink bowl broke and he had to drive out and wait in front of the store until it opened so he could get a replacement, otherwise she refused to eat.

The things I do for my children; he hadn't realized what that meant until, well until Sophie had actually come along.

Sophie had been a…lesson in learning. Things he did with her were going to be different than Annie. Sophie had been his sister, not his daughter. He loved her, protected her, but there was always that…teasing relationship they had. He felt different with Annie, although not by much.

He set the cereal bowl in front of her, dropping a kiss to her dark curls, which stuck up all over the place. Lightly, he stroked them, taming them down. Annie reached up, slapping his hand away. "Nice," he warned.

She scowled. "Don't touch my hair."

"Until you're 18, that's my hair. I'll touch it when I want. In fact, I'll cut it when I want."

"No! No don't cut it!"

"What on earth is all this noise about?" Lyla cooed, entering the kitchen holding a satiated Max against her chest, his eyes closed and tiny fingers still moving a little. She frowned slightly at him, but smiled softly after a second. She stepped closer to him, whispering. "Thought you wanted to sleep in?"

"She got away, came back in the room," he whispered, accepting the kiss she bestowed at the corner of his mouth. He kissed her cheek, reaching to take Max from her, which got him a grateful look. "Come here big guy, you full?"

That was one thing Sophie hadn't taught him, but he'd learned pretty quickly. Talking to babies. It was weird, because they didn't respond and sometimes he felt like a total idiot, but he swore sometimes Max understood him, same as Annie.

The baby seemed to turn into him, letting out a tiny cry, eyes opening and fingers moving up and down along the sleeve of his shirt. He glanced down, smiling at Max, reaching to run the pad of his finger along Max's cheek, which got him a semi-smile. Lyla's smile. Max looked like Lyla incarnate, whereas Annie looked more like him.

He kissed his son's dark hair, peeking out from beneath the blue cap he wore, with '33' embroidered along the turned up hem.

"Was that Sophie on the phone?" Lyla asked, keeping her voice soft, while Annie watched cartoons from her chair at the kitchen table. Thankfully, she was engrossed with My Little Pony and not their conversation.

He nodded quickly, swaying lightly with Max, whose eyes started to droop again. Go back to sleep, you need it kid. "Yeah, she'll be here at two, we'll go afterward."

"Good, good."

Max hiccupped in his sleep, bouncing slightly. Tim laughed, glancing at Lyla, who was smiling wide. "You want to go back up and get some sleep?" he offered. She looked exhausted. "I'll take him and the monster."

Damn, he just got that little sigh, wrinkle-forehead frown, and sad eyes look.

Lyla was going to make him feel guilty about…feeling guilty. Damn, she was good. He closed his eyes, whispering. "Garrity, I'm fine, it's been 17 years."

"Yes, it's been 17 years. I know you miss her."

I don't want to talk about it. Tim left her in the kitchen, carrying Max upstairs and into his room, which was painted blue and yellow, with Panther…stuff everywhere. It used to be Annie's room, but she now had Sophie's old room. Where Sophie slept when she came home, he wasn't sure.

Just that when he went to sleep, she was usually still awake. When he woke up, she was still awake. She could have been out sleeping on the porch for all he knew. Probably she went into the barn, in the small apartment that he'd set up at Lyla's request for Buddy, when he and Angela got in a fight and he had nowhere to go after she kicked him out.

Hell, he was probably just going to end up living there, Buddy wasn't getting any younger.

After a few minutes, he had put on a pair of 'shoes' for Max, changed him into a more lightweight sleeper, and carried him out of the bedroom, taking him into his and Lyla's room, where he changed into running gear.

"Let's go big guy," he said, taking him downstairs, calling to Lyla they were going for a run.

"Be careful!"

I need to clear my head. We can have Daddy and Son bonding time while I do it.

It took a few minutes, but Tim finally managed to get Max in the super-padded headgear thing in the jogging stroller, which freaked Lyla out, but the doctor said it was fine, so long as his head was completely supported and stabilized, which the freaking expensive stroller they'd gotten did.

Not that money was an issue; it still weirded him out with Lyla. She'd crossed the million mark; a couple years back. Was ranked and profiled in some magazine, as one of the youngest self-made female millionaires.

Tim didn't need headphones; he just wanted to run. Or jog, since he didn't really go fast with Max anyway.

He took off, at the end of the driveway, making his way down the street.

He came to a slow jog, about twenty minutes later, leaning over to check on Max, who was still asleep. That kid could probably sleep through the end of the world, especially once he had food in him. He smiled slightly, leaning back and tossing his sweaty hair from his eyes.

There was a truck coming towards them, he noted, seeing the headlights coming over the hill. To be safe, he moved completely off the road, leaning on the stroller, waiting for the truck to pass.

The occupant of the truck looked directly at him, before continuing on.

Weird.

Tim felt like the guy had scanned him. Taking note of everything. Some old man, he didn't recognize him. Maybe he was a former client who didn't like his work or someone he'd turned down. Or someone who just knew that the richest girl in town lived nearby.

Strange.

He couldn't shake it, even when he started running again, this time back to the house.

Maybe he'd tell Lyla later.

Right now he needed to clear his head again after that strange moment.


	2. Lyla and the Stranger

**Chapter 2: Stranger**

"What's the property look like?"

Lyla took a sip of her decaf coffee, making a face at it; Tim, the idiot, had made regular coffee for himself that morning, constantly forgetting that she was still breastfeeding. Unless he wanted Max to be some little caffeine addicted infant with bug eyes and Einstein hair. And now her decaf was freezing cold from sitting around all morning.

She dumped the remaining dregs of coffee in her cup, listening to one of her property managers explaining the benefits of the space in Austin. It sounded nice, but she had to view it before making an offer. Despite being 'honorary CEO', Lyla had maintained control over the locations of her bars and restaurants in Austin; it was the New York bar and the one in Los Angeles that she didn't really keep a complete hold on.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Annie playing with her tool set, along with the plastic kitchen that they had for her in what used to be a dining room. It had begun in her room, but migrated into the dining area; they didn't use it anyways and besides…the toys needed their own room.

Tim was talking about adding on an addition, turning the sunroom into an actual piece of the living room and knocking out the wall between them. "This place was just supposed to be for me, Garrity," he had explained it. More like complained. "Not you, me, a baby, a five-year old, Sophie, and all the junk that comes with them."

Lyla turned away from Annie, leaning over her tablet and tapping the stylus against it, 'penciling' in a meeting with the manager of Buddy's-Austin for later that week. Maternity leave, she reminded herself, it was for a good reason, but she just couldn't stay away sometimes. She just loved this stuff so much.

It wasn't too early to start teaching Max the ropes; he could come with her.

She said goodbye with her property manager, disconnecting. Lyla walked away from the counter, going to sit in the living room, her foot reaching to push lightly on the carrier with Max sleeping in it, rocking him. She glanced down at her son, frowning at his sleeping form.

Out he went for a run with Daddy, only to come back with Tim more anxious than he was when he went out for a supposedly head-clearing run. He'd dropped Max with her, gone upstairs to shower, and left immediately after for work. Wouldn't tell her anything.

I know when he's upset and he was definitely upset.

"What went on with you and Daddy today?" she asked out loud.

"Mommy he's a baby, he can't talk," Annie reminded her from across the room.

"Thank you sweetheart." Lyla smiled, lifting her eyes to her daughter, who just shrugged, like she was 'just saying.' She returned her gaze to her son, wondering about Tim.

Tim Riggins and his various moods were something she had come to both love and despise about him since she was 16-years old. It was a product of his upbringing; if you stay closed off, then you didn't open yourself up to being hurt. His moods were…well they were something that made him… him. He felt so deep. One little cut on a regular person was just a regular cut. On Tim, it was like a gaping wound.

So on today of all days, she forgave him when he got snippy or closed off or just plain foul. He missed Anne; as good as he was at overcoming, adapting, and being able to completely move on and not allow something to get to him for longer than a couple of hours…this was his mother's death. It was something a little bigger than just 'I'm in a fight with Billy.'

You're going to talk to me, she thought, vowing that to herself. Tim would balk, he'd get mad, he'd go do something stupid, and they'd have a fight. But in the end, he'd cave and he'd talk to her. They'd been through too much together for him to stay completely closed off on anything, no matter how small or big it was.

She reached for her phone. "Call Tyra," she ordered.

A few seconds later, her stepsister answered. "What's up Garrity?"

"I changed my name."

"I don't like calling you Riggins, it's a little weird."

"Actually it's Garrity-Riggins."

"That's too hard for me to say, so what's up?" Tyra asked. There was a sound of barking in the background. She seemed to push the phone aside, yelling. "Landry, get that dog out of my office!"

Landry?

What was Landry doing in Los Angeles?

Almost like they were on the same mind wavelength, Tyra answered, nonchalant. "Landry's crashing with me for a few days, he has a conference. Todd doesn't mind, he thinks it's really funny, actually, that I'm better friends with my exes than I am with normal people."

Yes, Tyra's husband was oddly calm, although she supposed he had to be, about Tyra being very close with her brother-in-law, who was also one of her exes and then of course, it seemed, Landry. Of course Todd was the yin to Tyra's yang; they could not have been more opposite. Probably why they'd been married for ten years.

Lyla shook her head, amused. "What a strange little group we live in," she mumbled.

"Got that right." Tyra paused, her voice dropping. "So it's…the day. How…how is he?"

"He's okay," she replied, lifting her shoulder, shrugging. "You know…moody."

"Is he with one of the kids? You know that makes him feel better."

Yeah, it did make him feel better, until something happened on his run that got him freaked. "He's working, I think. Until Sophie comes in this evening."

"That will really cheer him up. How is my sister-in-law anyway? She's in Moscow, right?"

"No, she's in London. Royal Ballet."

"Oh that's right, our little ex-pat."

Yes, Sophie had become a bit of an expatriate. Her talents in ballet were better honed on an international stage; she'd gotten auditions with many ballet companies, rejecting an offer for corps de ballet with the American Ballet Theatre for principal dancer in London, where she'd been prima for the last few months. Her eyes were farther over the horizon though, to the Bolshoi. Lyla was pretty sure that she would get there; it would take some time. She did have to pay her dues.

Unfortunately, Sophie, for all the values of humility Tim had taught her, was incredibly arrogant about her talents; she almost had to be, in the ballet world and insisted she could get to the Bolshoi before she was 30.

Tyra sighed heavily, breaking her thoughts about Sophie. "So why are you calling Garrity?"

Not entirely sure; just felt like talking to someone who didn't sing their ABCs every five minutes or cry just to let me know he was there. She ran her tongue over her teeth, whispering. "Just felt like saying hi. Are you going to be visiting anytime soon?"

"Actually, yes. Todd has a conference in Dallas, a bunch of lawyers thing, anyway, I'm going to just come by for a weekend, probably in a couple weeks. I'll let you know. I want to see Maxie."

Maxwell William Riggins was otherwise known as Maxie, to Tyra, who try, as she might, couldn't help but talk in baby talk. She didn't care what people thought of it and God save the person who pointed it out to her. Lyla chuckled, her foot still rocking at Max's carrier. He was moving a little more; it was about time for his afternoon feeding.

"Yeah, he's getting really big," she murmured, shaking her head at her son, who was massive. He was right on schedule for his age range, but still. Compared to his sister at the same age, he was twice her size. Coach Taylor and Buddy were already planning his entry into the world of Dillon Panther football.

The next few minutes progressed like most of their random phone calls. Just a bit of a status update with each other's lives. Tyra had a paper to present to the American Academy of Pediatrics on trauma in children's early lives, Lyla was looking at acquiring another restaurant. Tyra was still adamant against having children, but she thought Todd might be wondering about it. Lyla offered Tim for a week to test Todd's resolve at dealing with children. They laughed, the usual.

Lyla hung up a few moments later, still marveling at the notion that she and Tyra Collette were…friends. Stepsisters but that wasn't their choice. The friendship thing was.

Annie looked up from her toolbox, wearing one of Tim's hardhats on her head. "Mommy I'm hungry."

"You want to go get a cupcake?" In reality, Lyla wanted a decent cup of decaf coffee. Her favorite coffee place in Dillon also happened to have a wide selection of kid-fare. She stood up, picking up Max's carrier and placing it on the counter, nodding for Annie to go get her shoes.

Several minutes later, she'd managed to get Annie into her booster seat and Max into his carseat. He'd be starving by the time they got to the bakery, so she'd just have to feed him there.

Lyla left a message for Tim, saying that's where they were in the event he wanted to drop by or if he got home from…wherever he was. She drove into town, smiling at people who waved when they recognized her SUV. Not many people in Dillon drove a Lexus.

She found a parking space, climbing out and shepherding the kids. Annie helped her with Max's stroller; maybe they'd go on a walk later. "Mommy I want chocolate," Annie said, holding onto her hand.

"You want chocolate? What do you think Mommy wants?"

"Daddy says you drink too much."

She frowned down at Annie, who of course said it loud enough to get a couple people to glance their way. "Ah, honey I drink too much coffee, I don't drink too much."

"Oh okay, yeah, coffee."

Lyla shook her head, chuckling and pushing the stroller up to the register to order. She found them a place to sit, getting Annie settled with her cupcake and her box of milk. Max was starting to cry, so she picked him up, reaching into the baby bag and grabbing a bottle. It was warm enough, but Max was his father's son and preferred the boob to the bottle.

"Come on," she cooed, finally getting his mouth close around the bottle. His eyes widened, as if to say 'food!' Lyla made a face at him, smiling. "Yeah, it's still the same, I promise."

Annie picked at her cupcake, shoving pieces of it into her mouth and looking around. "When is Sophie coming back?" she asked.

"Sophie will be here soon," Lyla said. She lifted her eyes, scanning the bakery. Dillon had expanded, but just about everyone were still relatively the same old people. There were a few younger couples and a bunch of kids. It was good for Annie, to know that she would be growing up in the same kind of social environment that she had.

Preferably not with the same drama that had consumed her life.

"Good looking boy you got there."

Lyla lifted her eyes, smiling at an older man who was holding a cup of coffee, looking down at Max. "Oh, thanks," she laughed, nodding to Max, who was still sucking hungrily at his bottle, his little hands up to hold onto it, eyes darting around, but never focusing. "He's still pretty young."

"What's he about? Three or four months?"

She nodded, frowning slightly. It shouldn't have bugged her; most people when they talked about Max guessed his age. Commented on his size. Usually made a football crack. "Yeah, he's three months last week."

Annie looked up from her cupcake, smiling. "Hello," she greeted the stranger, lifting her hand. "I'm Annie."

Annie stop it, Lyla thought; she wasn't getting a great vibe from the man standing beside her. It felt like he knew her, but she didn't know him. She lifted her eyes again, trying to memorize every feature of his face.

Why are you scared of an old man? He seemed to be in his 60s. Maybe 70s, she wasn't good with ages like that. He didn't look like it, if he was. Silver hair swept from his face and a familiar smile. Why do I know you, she thought, her brow wrinkling in a frown.

The man smiled at her again, lifting his coffee towards her. "Beautiful family. Have a good day." He glanced at Annie and again at Max.

And seemed a little sadder.

Maybe…he'd lost his children or something, she thought, trying to look at the interaction in a light that wasn't negative. "Thank you," she murmured, watching him leave, walking out to get into a truck.

It looked like a rental, but she wasn't sure. It just seemed very…new. Lyla cocked her head, watching it drive away.

That was weird.

She felt like someone had scanned her or something.

Lyla glanced at Annie, who had finished her cupcake and was now bouncing in her seat, finishing up her milk. They didn't have long before she would get into the sugar rush. "Come on sweetie, help me clean up." Lyla removed the bottle from Max, who had fallen asleep with it in his mouth. Maybe he was narcoleptic, he did that a lot.

She draped him over her shoulder, with a burp rag, rubbing at his back until he spit-up, crying a little in surprise. "Annie, wipe your hands," she ordered, passing her daughter a wet-wipe.

"No."

"Anne Sophie Riggins," Lyla warned.

Annie scowled, but took the wipe, washing her hands and passing it back. Crazy children, Lyla thought, gathering the brood and leaving the bakery. It was a nice day, but she didn't really want to walk around. That moment with the strange man had kind of turned her off to dealing with the public for some reason.

It was almost two; Sophie was coming in, then she and Tim would probably be a few more hours before they went home. Annie would be yowling for lunch soon, once the cupcake wore off, but Lyla didn't want to go home just yet.

"Let's go see Grandpa and Grandma Angela," Lyla decided, opening up the car door. She never thought those words would come out of her mouth in her life.

"Yay! Grandma Angela!"

She chuckled, shaking her head, but frowned once she had everyone in the car and was driving away.

For some reason she just couldn't shake that guy.

Tim would want to know, but…no. Lyla wasn't going to worry him.

He had enough on his mind today.


	3. Sophie's Return

**A/N:**Thanks for the reviews! :) The answer to the mystery man (or maybe is it men? ;) ) will be answered in chapter 4 and 5. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 3: Sophie's Return**

_Boyfriend_

Ignore, Sophie thought, deleting the messages and missed phone calls from the boy who used to be her boyfriend. She had yet to completely remove him from her cell phone.

She walked through Dillon's airport, which had a grand total of four gates and two baggage claims. The flats she wore did nothing to stop the slight pain radiating up her foot to her ankle. Damnit. It was just from the long flights today, she reminded herself, repeating what the doctor told her, back in England.

Expect pain, until the muscles get used to moving again. Do your exercises and stretches. Don't overexert.

That was like asking her not to breathe.

She shoved her phone into her tote bag, hoping that her brother was out there. He was ignoring his phone. Maybe he left it at home. Whatever the case, she didn't want to wait long for him.

Right now she wanted to get to the cemetery. Sophie tossed her dark hair from her eyes, reaching to tug it back into a knot on the top of her head. She pushed by a couple of people beyond the security checkpoint, rising on her toes once she got free of the crowd.

Over the small throng of people moving around, she spied her brother. Tim waved, a smile pulling on his face. Yay, you're smiling, she thought, giggling.

"Tim!" Sophie yelled, giggling again. 22-years old, but she still felt like she was five when she saw him after a long time. It had been three months, since Max was born. She took off, dropping her duffel bag and tote on the ground, leaping up into his arms.

Tim groaned, his arms around her, spinning her lightly. "Come on Soph, you're bigger than me."

She lightly slapped his arm. "I am not." In fact, she was just as tall at him. Just a hell of a lot more gangly. Giraffe, that's what I am, Sophie figured. She kissed his cheek, slapping them with her hands and pinching like he was her baby nephew. "I missed you."

"Yeah me too, let go of my face. You got your things?"

"Yeah, got em." Sophie went to pick up her tote bag when someone kicked at it, sending her phone flying out of the pocket. Just as it began to ring. "You mind! "she shouted. The person looked back like she'd begun cussing. She made a rude hand gesture, leaning over for the phone.

I've been living in New York too long.

"Is that an English accent?"

Or maybe she'd been in London too long.

Tim's hand closed around the phone before she could get to it. No, no, no, Sophie thought, trying to grab it. He frowned, glancing at her, whispering, as though it was a big secret between them. "Who is Noah?"

"Um…friend." Not really a friend. Not anymore. Sophie grabbed the phone, shoving it back into her bag and bounced to her feet, wincing at the pain that rocketed up from the arch of her foot to her ankle. She shook her head, muttering. "Forget it, let's go."

They left the airport, silently getting into the truck and driving away towards Dillon Cemetery. She pursed her lips, licked them, tapped her fingers against her knee, and fiddled with a strand of thread on her leggings.

God Tim, how can you stand silence like this? It drove her insane. She glanced sideways, taking in his profile. So serious. Kind of like her most of the time, but just like her, she knew Tim had a sense of humor; he could be happy. In fact, he was happy. All the damn time.

Just not on this day.

She leaned against the window, whispering. "I miss her."

I barely remember her.

Seventeen years…she just had a strange sort of cloud like memory of her mother. This beautiful woman who loved her and cared for her. Who just wanted to make sure she had a family, at the end of her life, even if it meant having to confront the two children she'd abandoned, during a time of her life when she wasn't…

Well she changed. The day Sophie discovered that, when she was a teenager, she'd freaked out. She'd cried for days, hating her mother, until Tim told her, in no uncertain terms, that he'd forgiven her and that people were capable of change. Anne McConnell was her mother, a loving woman who just wanted to provide for her child. Anne Riggins was a mess, who had disappeared a long time before.

She tapped her fingers on her knee again, whispering. "I going for prima ballerina, once we're done with our yearly break. It's for this modern thing of Swan Lake? My hip-hop background should come in handy. It's this winter, I know I'm going to get it. You should come."

"London in winter?"

Yeah, she knew he hated the rain. She chuckled, whispering. "Tim this is a big thing for me. I have to get this part. Representatives of the Bolshoi will be there. You know that's my dream."

"It's Russia. You seriously want to move to Russia?"

"I won't be there permanently or anything, I can live in the United States and travel depending on the performance."

That would be very difficult and the jet lag would be huge, depending on how long she had to do it. It wasn't practical. She didn't want to think about it right now; it was hypothetical anyway.

Tim wasn't happy with her decision to just leave completely; he wanted her to follow dreams and everything, but he didn't understand why that wasn't in New York City or Los Angeles or somewhere that didn't involve overseas travel.

He misses me, she thought, glancing sideways again. "I love you," she whispered, taking her hand and covering his on the steering wheel.

Tim rolled his eyes, lifting the corner of his lip up in a smile. He turned his hand over, threading their fingers together. "I love you too," he replied.

When she lifted her eyes from their joined hands, she saw the entrance to the cemetery looming before them, the open gates pushed back on either side of the small pathway leading through the rolling hills of graves.

Anne's was atop one of the smaller hills, beneath a sycamore tree, with a view of the sunrise in the morning. She climbed out of the truck the moment it stopped, walking slowly around the hood, while Tim removed a bouquet of flowers from the back, passing them to her.

She approached the grave, setting the flowers in the little spot next to the granite set in the grass. She crouched, looking down and running her fingers over the "B" in beloved, tracing. It still seemed relatively new. "I miss you Mom," she breathed.

Beloved Mother.

Anne Riggins.

They'd chosen that for her last name, because it was theirs. She was their mother and it was their last name too. Sophie reached to tuck a stray strand of hair back from her eyes. The wind was growing strong; there would probably be a storm later.

I miss you so much, she thought, sending her thoughts heavenward, knowing that Anne could hear her from wherever she was. Seems like yesterday we were getting ice cream and you were sitting me next to you and saying how one day I would be famous and all grown up and have dreams…

I have my dreams Mom; I got them. Sophie smiled, tears beginning to fill her vision. "I'm dancing on the stars," she breathed. Just like you said I would. Only I'm literally…literally dancing my way to you.

The ache in her foot had subsided while they were in the car, but was returning the longer she crouched. She stood, stepping off to give Tim his moment with their mother. Billy probably wouldn't show up; she knew Mindy sometimes came to visit, to clean up the weeds. So did Lyla.

Just not today. Today was just the two of them.

Sophie moved from the hill, down the slope; Tim didn't talk much, but sometimes he said a bit more than she did to the stone. She glanced out of the corner of her eye at an approaching truck. There was an older man driving it; she swore she recognized him.

He slowed, peering up at Tim, who was kneeling at the stone, fiddling with a strand of grass around the vase of flowers, his lips moving; he was talking to her. Sophie frowned deeper, her arms crossed over her chest, gesturing to the window.

The older man seemed panicked, that someone caught him, but lowered it as she approached the truck. "Can I help you?" she asked, licking her lips nervously. Her heart began to thud hard against her ribs.

Yes, there was something very, very familiar about this man.

Maybe it was the tilt of his eyes or the somewhat crooked twist of his lips when he smiled. God, where I have I seen you, Sophie wondered, staring at him, trying to memorize as much as possible. "Yeah, I seem a bit turned around here, can you tell me where the exit is?"

She pointed straight down the path, whispering. "It's the big gates, there's only one way in and one way out." And one road that wrapped around. It was actually fairly difficult to get lost on a circle.

He tilted his fingers to his temple. "Thank you. Say…do you know whose truck that is up there? Seems familiar, I've just moved back to Dillon from being away for a bit."

Yeah, it's my brother's. Sophie lifted her chin, whispering. "It belongs to Double Three Contracting. Are you interested in a contractor?"

They squared off for a second; I'm not telling you my brother's name, she thought, wondering if it was someone who had a beef against Tim. Not many people did, but he had his fair share of clients over the years that didn't like the pricing he'd given them or the end result of whatever they'd hired him for.

The man just smiled. "Have a nice day darling," he drawled, turning back to the steering wheel and driving away.

Sophie followed the truck, memorizing the license plate number. She glanced up at the grave; Tim was still standing there. Best not to say anything.

She waited, until he turned around, gesturing for her to come back up, so she did, her arm going around his waist. He dropped a kiss to the top of her head and she closed her eyes, resting her cheek against his chest.

Her arms tightened around him, holding. My big brother, she thought, the tears returning. Whatever would have happened to me without you? She choked back a sob, burrowing her face into his shirt. He wrapped his arms even tighter around her, whispering. "I love you Sophie."

"I love you too Tim," she mumbled. She sniffed, wiping at her eyes, looking down at the small stone. She frowned slightly, something catching her eye in the vase, amongst their flowers.

Kneeling, she reached in, removing it. "What's that?" Tim asked.

"I don't know, it was in the vase." She rocked back onto her heels, holding the single rose, a piece of paper pinned to the stem. She unfurled it, staring at the handwriting. It was obviously a guy. She looked up at him, whispering. "It just says 'I'm sorry.' Who could have put it here?"

Tim took it from her, staring at it, shaking his head, whispering. "I have no idea."

Well, anyone could have put it there, it was a public cemetery, but…who would have come all the way to Dillon that knew Anne but didn't want to see Tim or her? Anne's friends still sort of kept in touch with her, just to make sure she was doing alright. Not that her mother had many friends. Mrs. Smith, her former guardian, had died a couple years ago. There was the lady in Austin, who still owned Anne's old bakery.

This was weird, Sophie thought, hearing the theme from the Twilight Zone in her head. She shrugged, taking the paper from Tim and crumpling it up, shoving it into the pocket of her jeans. "Whatever." She put the rose back, although it felt weird. Like it wasn't a good thing that that rose was there with their flowers.

Tim nodded to the truck, sighing. "Come on. You want to see your babies, don't you?"

Yes! The babies! She smiled warmly, pushing the pain of Anne's passing out of her mind, as well as the strange experience she had with that guy a minute ago. "Yes, my babies," she said, looking down at the stone one last time and waving her fingers at it.

They climbed back into the truck. Tim glanced at her, smiling slightly. "I guess my dark day is going away."

"Dark day?"

"Forget it, something Lyla tells Annie."

"Take me to my babies," she ordered, pointing down the road.

"Yes master."

She giggled, reaching for her buzzing phone, staring at the screen. _Boyfriend_. Ignore. She'd have to change the ringtone from the Monday Night football theme though; thankfully she hadn't turned the volume back on. Otherwise Tim would know exactly who was calling her.

Right now she could deal without Tim-as-her-father drama.

Tim frowned. "Who do you keep ignoring? You got a boyfriend you're not telling me about or something?"

Or something. "None of your beeswax," she replied. Right now he didn't need to know anything. If things went the way she wanted them to be going, he wouldn't need to know at all.

"I'm your big brother, it's my business to know your beeswax."

"Not now that I'm 22."

"Don't remind me."

She smiled, peering out the window, shaking her head slightly, and whispering. "Just drive Tim. I need to see my niece and nephew. I'm forgetting what they look like."

"Annie kisses your picture every night. By the way, I don't think Lyla's told her yet you're going to be here."

Well that should go over pretty well, she thought, already anticipating Annie's reaction. They'd have to unscrew her from the ceiling. Although it would be fun to surprise her.

"You okay kid? Seem weird."

I'm fine. Sophie plastered a smile on her face, whispering. "I'm fine. Just…Mom, you know."

Tim nodded, not saying anything further.

Her phone buzzed again; she glanced down at the text message, closing her eyes briefly. _I didn't mean what I said, can you please just talk to me? Please? _

No. I can't talk to you. Sophie turned the phone off completely; she was on a bit of a vacation anyway. She shoved it down into her tote bag, looking up when Tim pulled the truck down the driveway to her old house. Or rather, her only house. The only home she'd known.

The big white house with the stone siding along the back part of it, with the dark blue front door and the wraparound porch; it was her home. Even if her bedroom had been taken over after little surprise Max came along. The apartment in the bar suited her better anyway; she could go down to the barre whenever she wanted to practice.

She climbed out of the truck, leaving her stuff and walking up the steps to the front door, pushing it open and stepping into the cool air-conditioning interior. "Hello!" she called, mindful of the fact that there was a baby in the house who might be sleeping.

The ballet flats on her feet were silent on the hardwood, walking around into the kitchen and to the open archway into the living room. She leaned against one of the two posts between the living room and the kitchen, her eyes widening and mouth falling open when Annie looked up, spying her.

Annie waited a second, her little hazel eyes focusing on her. She set down the book she was reading with Lyla, who was just smiling, holding Max against her chest. She climbed off the couch and stared, waiting a beat.

"Hey baby," Sophie said, grinning as wide as she could. "How are you?"

Her niece waited another minute until she took off, running at Sophie. Oh you poor little thing, she thought, kneeling and wrapping her arms tight around Annie, swaying with her and squeezing her tight, with Annie's little hands linking around her neck. "You're here!" Annie squealed.

I'm here. She kissed Annie's cheeks over and over, and blew raspberries, grinning and hugging her tight again. "I'm here. I love you! I got you some presents; they're in the car! Go to your Daddy and get them!"

Annie sprinted out of the living room and out the front door, screaming about presents. Sophie stood, running over to hug her sister-in-law, who had been more of her surrogate mother. "Lyla," she sighed, hugging tight. "I missed you too. You look amazing for someone who gave birth three months ago!"

"Well chasing after a five-year old and then of course being married to your brother is pretty much what did it," Lyla chuckled, looking down at Max, who was peering up at them, wide awake. She cooed down to him. "You want to see your favorite aunt? Here you go…"

Sophie took Max, lifting him up and lowering him down, pressing a kiss to his little nose. He was absolutely adorable; the cutest baby she'd ever seen. Well, tied with his sister of course. He was just baby chunk all over. Fat baby cheeks, arms, hands, legs and feet, like a tiny sumo wrestler.

He looked at her, his eyes big. He had the same hazel as her, Annie, and Tim, but Sophie could already tell that he was starting to look more like Lyla, with the same facial features.

Of course, he was three months old; he'd look like who he was going to look like when he got a little bigger. "Look at you," she sang to him, tickling her finger over his cheek, grinning. "You're like a little linebacker."

"I think they're going more for a wide-out."

"Well I'm sure his name is already written down somewhere for Panther football." Sophie pretended to bite Max's cheeks, sending him into giggles. He seemed to smile, looking up at her, eyes wide. He was a beautiful baby. A lock of his dark hair stuck up in the back of his head. Kind of like Tim's did sometimes.

The front door shut, Annie running in, holding a box. "Is this mine?" she demanded.

"Where are you manners?" Lyla asked. She pointed to the point. "You put that back until Sophie says you can open it."

"Relax, she can open it now," Sophie said, patting Max's back. She smiled, watching Annie tear into the box and wrappings. She seemed like a monster, using teeth and hands to get beyond everything and into the box.

She screeched, pulling out a pair of child ballet shoes. "Shoes for me!" Annie dropped them, diving back into the box, where she unearthed a Paddington Bear stuffed doll, a plastic teapot and cup, and a fake bear fur hat like the guards at Buckingham Palace wore.

Sophie laughed, watching Annie parade around in her new ballet shoes and her hat, holding Paddington and asking Tim to make her milk and cookies with her new teapot and cup.

Lyla kissed her cheek, giving her a quick hug. "I'm glad you're back," she whispered. "Especially today."

Yeah, Sophie thought, releasing a long breath. She closed her eyes.

It was good to be back.


	4. Tim Figures It Out

**Chapter 4: Tim Figures It Out**

My sister is hiding something from me.

Sophie had been back a day and she'd completely buried her phone away, refusing to answer his questions about who kept calling her. She changed the subject, went to go hang out with Max and Annie. There was also something else she was hiding. She'd asked him at dinner the day before if he had an older relative or something that might be visiting Dillon.

No, why? No reason, she'd quickly covered, changing the subject to ask about Annie going to school in a few weeks.

He watched her from the kitchen window, dancing around the firepit with Annie, while Mindy clapped in time with the music, some sort of folk thing. Sophie's area of expertise was classical ballet, but he knew she'd also done hip-hop and then some other stuff, something like this. Some folk thing she could do.

The water was hot, but he didn't care, too busy wondering what she was doing with her life in London. Billy told him to get over it, let her live her life, she was beyond their control or oversight, the second she turned 18 and left Dillon for New York City.

She'd stayed with Jason, while she was in New York. Saved him and Lyla from having to pay room and board, not that it mattered, with Deep Pockets Garrity paying for everything now.

Well, not really. He didn't let her.

"Tim!"

"What?" he mumbled, glancing over his shoulder, seeing Lyla hurrying towards him, throwing down a sweatshirt and blanket on the table, leaning over his arms to turn off the water in the sink. He looked down, seeing his hands were bright red from the scalding water. "Oh."

"Let me see," Lyla chided, taking them in her hands, reaching for a towel to wipe off the water. She sighed, lifting her eyes, whispering. "You'll be fine. What's going on? You've been spacy all day. It's so unlike you."

He shrugged, glancing out the window again. Sophie was sitting down now, talking to one of the twins, Ricky, who was home from school for the summer from UT. His twin, Nicky, was at Berkeley, and doing some sort of science thing over the summer and couldn't come home.

Who the hell would have thought, Tim wondered briefly, that the Riggins generation of him and Billy would manage to produce Stevie, who now went by Steven, and was an apprentice athletic trainer for the Chicago Bears, Nicky who was at Berkeley and studying physics or something, and Ricky, who was…well he was closest to Billy and had gotten in no problem at UT but was probably going to barely graduate and still come back home to live in Dillon.

He turned back to Lyla, who was still watching him. "What?" he asked.

"Nothing, I'm just wondering why you're spacy today. Yesterday you had a reason, I guess, but today?" She shrugged, breathing. "I can't help you all the time Tim."

"I'm not asking you to help me," he snapped, suddenly defensive. He shook his head, whispering. "Look…Sophie? She's not telling me something, I know it."

"Tim she's twenty-two, she can have secrets."

He glanced down at her. "We don't have secrets." Not him and Sophie. They told each other just about everything. Well, not everything. It was just…they were close, that's all. Like he and Billy were close. They knew everything about each other. Big things. Like if she had a boyfriend, he'd know about it, she'd tell him.

Wouldn't she?

Well, she didn't tell him about her high school boyfriend. Her 'friend.' David something. He had no idea where David Something went. Didn't matter. He pushed his hand through his hair, wincing a little. Yeah, that hurt.

Lyla reached up on her toes, kissing him quickly. "I love you, but that doesn't mean I won't kill you if you start snooping in on Sophie, okay? She's an adult; she doesn't need her dad-Tim anymore. What she needs is her brother-Tim and you didn't go snooping when Mindy started dating Billy and he didn't go snooping with your love life, okay?"

To be fair, Billy did snoop a lot when I started dating Tyra again, but Tim figured it was best not to bring that up. His wife's stepsister being his ex-girlfriend was awkward enough without having to bring it up, even if it was to prove a point.

He kissed her quickly. "Where's Max?"

"Sleeping off his dinner. He wouldn't stop, I finally had to yank him away," Lyla said, smiling quickly. She tapped his nose. "He's a little pig."

"Naw, he just likes you, is all," Tim replied, kissing her again. He pushed lightly against her, turning her around to the counter, his hands rising to stroke through her hair. He felt her hands rest on his hips, her mouth opening farther beneath his.

God, it could get so out of control, even seven years later, he thought, breaking away before they both fell down onto the kitchen floor, like they might have before…well before Sophie came along for sure. "You want to table this until later?" he mumbled against her lips, kissing across her cheek to her neck.

Lyla chuckled against him, sighing in pleasure when he found the sweet spot she had at the base of her neck. "Oh," she mumbled, her hands running up his back. "Yes, later…of course later," she whispered, pulling away to take his lips with hers again, their fingers threading together as she tugged him away from the sink. She broke away, giggling. "Or…we go in the laundry room…or upstairs or…ah!"

You're speaking my language, he thought, sweeping her up into his arms, set to carry her to the laundry room, which was the closest place they could go just for a quickie.

Of course, his sister had to walk in.

"Hey guys…ew, gross!" Sophie stomped her foot on the ground, wincing as she did so. He glanced down at her foot, which she tucked behind her other ankle, her eyes lifting from it to his. She smiled quickly. "You guys are disgusting. You're parents!"

"Yeah, how do you think we got to be parents or do I have to teach you that again?"

"Oh my God, the first time was enough thank you," Sophie mumbled, shuddering. She glanced at the fruit basket, her face turning a little green. "I still can't look at bananas the same again."

"Good," Tim said. He hated that moment too. Him and Billy trying to explain to an eight-year old Sophie about birds and bees. Then they had to give her the 'safe sex' talk when she was thirteen, after Mrs. Taylor told them it might be better if they went over it with her again, just in case, since she was growing up.

It had been mortifying on so many levels, so much so that Mindy took her for the evening to 'un-traumatize her' as Mindy said. The next day Sophie was fine, but it still held bad memories in need of therapy, even years later.

He felt Lyla kiss him lightly on the cheek. "Later," she said, letting go and coming back down to the floor, walking out of the house with the sweatshirt and blanket she'd originally been taking outside to the fire.

Leaving him and Sophie alone again. He went to the fridge, removing a bottle of beer and cracking the cap. "So what's up?" he asked.

Sophie snagged the beer bottle from him, taking a long pull. "Nothing. What's up with you?"

"Nothing. That's my beer."

"My beer now, thanks big bro." She walked around the side of the counter. Tim noticed she was favoring her right foot, the one that she'd bounced on and had winced.

He nodded towards her, walking back to the counter with a new beer for him. "What's wrong with your foot? Did you hurt it?"

Sophie shook her head quickly, setting her beer bottle down on the counter. "It's nothing. It's…" She shrugged, pretending it was nothing. Minimizing, Tim noticed. Like he did on occasion. She waved her hand slightly, whispering. "Stupid Nikolai at work…he didn't stretch in time and got a cramp lifting me and I landed really hard…it's nothing."

Seems like something. "Make sure you ice it or something," he whispered. "You're twenty-two, I don't want you to be one of those people who ends up…done with their careers at thirty."

Even though that's what she was working towards, unfortunately. There weren't very many female ballet dancers over a certain age, not prima ballerinas, which was what Sophie wanted. Not at the Bolshoi.

He kissed the top of her head, his arm wrapping around her, and his fingers pinching at her waist, which got a giggle and smile from her. He smiled. "You're too skinny. I'll have to fatten you up this visit. Well, Buddy will, I'm sure, with the food he serves at his place."

"Doesn't Lyla manage those places now?"

"Yeah, but she's being a mogul elsewhere most of the time to see that Buddy switches out the turkey meat in the burgers for real cow."

"I can't believe Grandpa has even been around a turkey burger and not broken into hives or something."

"He did have a bit of an allergic reaction when Lyla made him eat a gluten free cookie on a dare." Tim smiled down at her again. "Come on, let's go back outside. Annie probably is dying to see more of you."

"Yeah, I'm sure." She licked her lips, frowning slightly. "Hey Tim, um, you know anyone who…" She shrugged, stopping at the base of the steps leading from the porch, holding her beer in both hands, shifting her weight a bit. She lifted her shoulder, casually throwing it out there. "Know anyone who drives a dark blue truck? Silverado?"

Dark blue Silverado…that sounded familiar…

Yesterday. The walk.

He saw that truck on the run with Max, the weird guy driving it. The one he thought he recognized but didn't. "No," he whispered, lying through his teeth. "Why?"

"Um…no reason, just…I saw it yesterday at the cemetery…seems a little strange, like he drove by a couple of times while we were at the grave, I just thought maybe it was someone Mom knew and was too nervous to get out and ask." Sophie flashed a quick smile, but it didn't meet her eyes. She walked down the steps, by him, and towards the firepit.

Tim turned a little, following his gaze after her. That was weird. Then there was that note; that someone had left. I'm sorry. Who would do that? He furrowed his brow, getting up and going up into the house, opening the door to his study and kneeling at the bottom desk drawer, yanking it open.

He wasn't a very good housekeeper when it came to paperwork. That's why he hired Lyla to manage his business, until she found a way to run hers from the house. Becky did almost everything now as his office manager.

All the business files, from the beginning to now, were in the office in 'downtown' Dillon. However, he kept anything personal here, it just wasn't filed quite right. He rummaged through, finally finding one of the files from when he'd petitioned to get Sophie under his custody.

He leaned back on his haunches, flicking it open, rifling through court hearings, judgments, and other assorted crap. He closed his fingers around a photo, removing it and staring.

That was the guy.

Sophie's father.

That was the one driving the truck, the rental truck. Hell, he had to be well into his 80s now. The guy he'd seen looked old, but he didn't seem that…oh, wait, Jack McConnell was a plastic surgeon. Probably had had work done.

What could Sophie's father possibly be doing driving around Dillon? Casing my house?

He set the photo on the desk, kicking the drawer shut, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck. The door creaked open behind him. "What are you doing Timmy?"

"Oh, nothing," he mumbled, hearing Billy walk over.

"What's this?" Billy took the picture, frowning. "Why are you looking at Sophie's dad?"

Their sheepdog puppy, Chewbacca, wandered around their feet, sniffing and probably searching for food. He lifted his face up, barking a few times. Billy leaned down and picked him up, ruffling the cotton ball's head to shut him up. "Just want to relive memories or what, Timmy?"

Might as well tell Billy. He shrugged. "Yesterday I took Max running."

"Running? He's a baby, he can't even hold his head up."

"I went running you idiot," Tim said, rolling his eyes. He pointed to the picture. "Saw that guy in a truck drive right by us. He slowed down to look at me and kept going. I swear it was him, just much, much older. Sophie's been asking about that truck, thinks she saw it at the cemetery. Where I found a rose that said 'I'm sorry' on a piece of paper."

Billy set the photo down, looking up, his brow wrinkled beneath his ever-present blue Dillon Panthers baseball hat. "You tell Sophie this?"

"I just put the pieces together and no."

"Don't."

Yeah, well no shit, of course I'm not going to tell her. Tim turned away from the desk, looking at his brother, both of them squaring off on this. He shook his head slightly. "She's gonna' kill us if she finds out we're keeping this from her."

Billy shrugged. "Would you rather she actually meet the guy who was in jail most of her childhood and then said horrible things about Mom in order to get custody of her? Who made her life hell for five months, not knowing if she was ever going to see us again? Who said that you were an alcoholic misfit felon who couldn't provide a home for her?"

All of that was almost true, that's what was so sad, Tim thought, trying not to remember those five months. It got bad. Really, really bad, and Billy was right. He didn't want Sophie to have terrible memories of her father. Quite frankly, he didn't want her to have any memories of him. Which so far, she hadn't.

He turned away from the desk, taking Chewbacca from Billy. "Better get back outside before your wife wonders where you went hiding to."

"Or yours."

They both rolled their eyes at their respective spouses, who tended to get worried when the two of them disappeared off together; Tim had no idea why.

He followed Billy outside, setting Chewbacca on the ground, the fluffball running off to join Annie. Lyla approached him, her arm linking through his. He glanced down at her; she should know. He cocked his head slightly. "Um, can you do me a favor?"

"Of course babe, what?"

"Um…" Tim lifted his eyes up to Lyla's. He paused; he didn't keep things from her. Not ever. Not after all they'd been through. He took her hand, leading her from the back and up into the house. He went up the stairs, ignoring her protests of what he was doing and where they were going.

He stepped into Max's room, leaning on the door, waiting for her to step ahead of him. Lyla raked her fingers through her hair, turning around, lifting her shoulders in silent questioning.

Max's room was so full of Panther stuff it was ridiculous. Tim picked up a stuffed panther, turning it over his hands for a second, just to give him something to do. Almost everything was given to him by Buddy and Coach Taylor and Billy. Matt Saracen had done some of the paintings and photograph collages on the wall, mostly of Texas, Dillon, and the family.

Tim focused on one picture that hung next to the rocking chair in the corner. It was the whole family, including Sophie, the day they brought Max home from the hospital, crowded around together on the porch, sitting in the swing, with Texas in the background.

He wanted Anne to be there when they'd taken the picture, but he figured she was, in whatever…whatever way Lyla thought she was there or him or Sophie or even Billy. It was personal.

"Tim?" Lyla whispered.

Yeah, yeah…he stepped over to the crib, leaning on the bars and peering down at Max. Who slept with his arms flung over his head, mouth open, and practically snoring. The football jersey he was sleeping in was tugged up over his stomach. Tim leaned his hand over, pulling it back down, touching his hand lightly to Max's pudgy tummy. Fat, happy baby.

"I think I saw Sophie's father yesterday," he whispered. He continued, before Lyla could interrupt, already seeing that she was preparing to do so. "It was when I went for a run, I thought I saw him in a truck, driving down the street. Sophie said she saw someone in a truck at the cemetery." He left out the note at the grave. This was different. "I don't want to tell her, she doesn't know…I told Billy, to keep him in the loop, but just in case something weird happens."

"Then I have to tell you something."

What? Tim straightened up. Lyla frowned, taking his hands into hers, whispering. "Yesterday at the coffee shop, the bakery thing…this guy came up to me and Annie…he…he just said that we were a beautiful family, asked about Max, but…it was so weird. He seemed to know them. Like…like he knew who they were but he was asking anyway…he got in a truck. I…I think it might have been the same guy."

Son of a bitch. Tim shook his hair from his eyes, closing them. "Maybe I have to go get a restraining…"

"Tim, we don't know why he is here or what he wants, let's just…" Lyla released a long breath, shaking her head. "Let's take this slow and not rush things, not upset anyone, especially Sophie, okay?"

Yes. That made sense, okay. He nodded, his arm around her shoulders, glancing back at Max. "Okay."

"It's probably nothing, it's been about…fifteen years since he's seen her, I mean…maybe he's changed, we just…Sophie is twenty-two, if he wants to reach out to her and talk to her, he can do that, I mean…look at what happened when your mother reached out," Lyla breathed. She smiled warmly, her eyes shining a little. "That was by far the best thing that ever happened to you Tim. I'm not saying that's it for Sophie, but she needs to decide on her own, okay?"

Okay, I get it, fine. Tim sighed, looking out the window, down at Sophie dancing around the fire again, everyone cheering her. She was happy; even if she was hiding something from him, at least she was happy. "Okay."

"Now," Lyla murmured, kissing him, and pushing him out of Max's room, turning the corner to knock him into the wall. She smiled against his lips. "Where were we earlier?"

Tim chuckled, pushing her into their room and shutting the door with his foot.


	5. Lyla's In-Laws

**A/N:**Naguabo, don't overestimate me, you're probably still right! :) I'm updating earlier than planned (was going to wait until Monday), but I managed to make headway on it and the fic is now 50% complete. Enjoy!

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**Chapter 5: Lyla's In-Laws**

Lyla sat in the back room of Buddy's bar, running through the accounting again. She shook her head, mumbling under her breath. "Unbelievable." Once again, he'd completely disregarded her order that he only have the outside bar on certain days of the week; it was too expensive to have it all week long with the A/C going inside and leaking outside.

She pushed aside the old-fashioned adding machine, leaning back in the chair. Max was in his stroller across from the desk, bouncing happily and making huffing noises. The door opened and Buddy stepped in, zeroing in on Max before her. "How is my grandson doing? He's happy, huh?"

"He's pooping," Lyla said, noting the scrunched up face Max was making. Buddy immediately took a step back. She rolled her eyes. Just like Tim, he'd run at the first sight of having to change a diaper. He'd been doing that for years. She pointed her pencil at the books. "Daddy, I'm cutting you off from management. You're overspending again."

"Lyla, it's just a new dance floor."

"That you paid through the nose for, that people can't even dance on, and it's going to take another few weeks for it be finished and by then most people will be going back to school and to work and you didn't even talk to Tim about getting the materials for cost or even having him do it, because you were impatient and he didn't have time until the fall," Lyla said, trying to stress the importance of timing on her father, which he'd never been very good at. She smiled. "Daddy this is the flagship Buddy's Bar, it can't go under."

"And it won't."

There's a first for everything and Buddy had already met that for failing businesses. She closed the books up and powered down the computer, getting up from the seat and walking over to pick up Max, pushing the now smelly, but cooing, baby at his grandfather. She rummaged in his bag, taking out a new diaper, powder, wipes, and the mat. "Have fun Daddy."

"Lyla, baby…you're better at this than me!"

"He's your grandson, you love him no matter what comes out of him." And it could be scary.

Lyla walked out of the office, wearing her 'manager outfit' as Tim called it, of white shirt and black pants, because she did want to put in a couple of hours. It always made people happy to see the one that sort of started it all. There were tons of tourists that came through when they were in Austin, since the bar had made it onto some of the travel and food networks, after she hired on the restaurant beside it and started to serve more 'Texan" flair food.

Good food too, because she hired good chefs.

Lyla stepped behind the bar, taking an empty glass and filling up a few more drink orders. It was kind of fun, to go back to this life. She turned to the cash register, making change for someone when she heard a familiar drawl. "Well hello again darling."

The hair on the back of her neck stood up. Women's intuition was not a fake thing. Lyla glanced over her shoulder, spotting the guy from the coffee shop from a few days ago. She passed the change off to the customer who requested it and stepped towards the stranger.

Once again, he looked familiar, wearing a flannel shirt and pushing his hand through his silvery blond hair. She pursed her lips for a moment. "Can I help you?" she asked.

"Wondering if I could get a beer?" he asked, smiling again. "Didn't know you owned this place. Been coming here the last couple days."

"Yeah, it's kind of a family thing." Look at the wall to your left, you'll see I own a lot more than that, of course…Lyla was thinking he already knew that. She'd had a couple of family members suddenly come out of hiding and want to be friends with her. On both her father and mother's sides. Cousins of some sort of another. She didn't know them all to be certain.

Maybe he was a 'cousin.'

Lyla set a Lone Star in front of him, making a move to step back when he called her name. "You're Lyla, right?"

Couldn't hide from that. "Yes." Lyla crossed her arms over her chest, feeling defensive for some reason. She lifted her chin slightly. "My name is Lyla."

"Lyla…Riggins, right?" he asked, nodding towards the wall. One of the photos was a picture in some lifestyle magazine, of her and Tim after they got married, calling in a 'Texan Wedding.' It was as far from Texas as you could get. Tim didn't wear a Stetson or giant belt buckle or bolo tie. Although he did drive her off in his old black truck, beer cans knocking on the ground.

She nodded slightly. "Yes. Lyla Riggins."

"Tim Riggins was a big time football player here. I'm from Dillon originally, but I missed out on his career with the Panthers. Managed to see a couple of games though," the man drawled, lifting his fingers to his lips, resting them there for a moment; once again, he seemed sad, his bluish-brown eyes glancing away for a moment.

Until he lifted them up, scanning her.

That's what it felt like. Like he'd started at the top of her head and scanned all the way down to her toes. She felt like she had to go take a shower. She swallowed hard. "Tim Riggins is my husband."

He smiled quickly. "You know, you seem familiar, did you go to Dillon with him?"

"Yes." She didn't like this line of questioning.

"Got yourself some nice kids I saw there."

Okay, she really didn't like the questioning. Lyla leaned in, her hands on the bar, whispering into his face, her eyes focused on his. "Can I help you with anything sir? Get you another drink or something? That's why I'm here. Not to play 20 questions about my family."

Mama Bear, Mindy told her she'd get it. Said it would become her first reaction to just about anything after she had Annie. You didn't hear anyone out; you just pounced on them and tore them to shreds.

It seemed to have done its trick, but the man lifted an eyebrow, his lip curving up with it.

Like he was saying 'touche.'

Lyla took a step back, staring.

She knew that look.

"You okay?" he asked, still smiling. He lifted his beer up, taking a sip and making a face at it, setting it back down on the bar. He swallowed, shaking his hand and lifting it back up, murmuring. "Didn't sit right."

Oh my God.

She turned, stumbling away like a completely idiot, ignoring someone else who asked if she was alright.

I'm not alright!

Lyla pushed her way down the hall, entering the office, where Buddy was bent over Max, trying to get his diaper on. There was a pile of wipes, powder was over every surface, and at least two different sets of baby t-shirt and pants were on the floor. The whole office reeked of baby poo.

"Oh thank God you're back, I forgot how to do this," Buddy said, lifting up Max, whose diaper just fell off.

Max giggled, shoving his fingers into his mouth and wiggling his feet around in the air.

She shook her head, mumbling and reaching for Max, putting him back down on the changing pad, grabbing wipe, powder, and diaper, swiftly cleaning him up and strapping on the diaper. "It's not hard," she snapped, grabbing a sleeper and tugging it on over his head and arms, snapping it between his thighs, leaving them bare. He liked to wiggle his toes now anyway.

What in the hell just happened out there?

That couldn't be him, it just couldn't…Tim told her he was dead. Told her he left town when he was a sophomore and that was all. Died not long after he got custody of Sophie, Billy found out from someone who knew him.

Unless…

Unless he lied to her. Flat out lied.

No, Lyla immediately thought, closing her eyes and shaking her head slightly. No, don't automatically think he was lying, that's not right. He…he could have been mistaken, that's it, mistaken.

She didn't understand this.

"Daddy," she whispered, nodding to the door. Her father would know who he was. Her father knew everyone in Dillon. "Can you please go out there? Guy at the bar, next to the register. Tell me who he is, I can't place him."

"Honey…"

"Can you please? It's important." She silently begged him, her eyes wide and forehead furrowed. I can't tell you why, don't ask. She cradled Max against her, wanting to just hold him tight. Annie was at home with Sophie; Tim was working in the office today.

Tim didn't do well in offices, so he was probably at the stadium with Billy, watching tryouts and conditioning practice.

I need to see him, to just make sure…Lyla fumbled in her pocket for her phone, hitting the house icon for the main line at home. It rang a couple times, Sophie answering. "Riggins!"

"Hey, what are you guys doing there?"

"Um…we're here because we live here? I'm at the barre, Annie is practicing with me, I have got some adorable photos…"

Lyla nodded, quickly cutting off Sophie. "Yeah, cute, I'm sorry Sophie, but keep her there, okay? I just…just don't answer the door if someone weird is there, please, okay?"

Sophie instantly grew concerned. "Is everything okay Lyla?"

"Everything's fine, I'm sorry, I just…" She closed her eyes, lying through her teeth. "I got a phone call about someone who might be trying to get some money out of me, a disgruntled employee…nothing to be worried about I promise. Just keep an eye on Annie and don't leave the house today until I get this sorted."

"Yeah, yeah no worries. God, people suck don't they? Just because they can't do something with their life they try to ruin others who did."

Yeah, story of my life. Lyla disconnected, putting the phone back in her pocket, turning and setting Max in the stroller. She'd get him out of here through the back, where she'd parked.

The door opened again, her head lifting. "Daddy?"

"Nothing Lyla, no one was there. Swear I saw Walt Riggins leaving but…" Buddy shook his head slightly, oblivious. "What?"

Oh my God.

It was him.

Lyla grabbed the baby bag. "I have to get to Tim," she stammered, trying to find her keys. "I can't believe this is happening…" They were getting on a normal…routine. A normal life. They had a normal…normal life.

Why can't I just have that?

She fought with the stroller, pushing it out back, Buddy following her, demanding to know what was going on, who was it she saw in the bar…Lyla gripped Max's carrier tightly in her hands, setting it into the base in the backseat of the car with a loud snap. She spun around, shoving the stroller together. "Daddy, I can't explain now, I'll do it later, okay?"

She looked up while she was snapping everything into place. "It's just…that guy? I think it was Tim's dad."

Buddy shook his head. "Impossible, Tim said he died."

"I know!" She caught her finger in the stroller, yelping. "Damnit!"

"Honey, you just…here…"

"No! I'm fine!" Lyla threw the stroller into the backseat, climbing up into the front; Max was starting to cry, upset by the quick movements and loud noise. She slammed the door and drove off, ignoring Buddy shouting for her to come back and explain.

She drove like a maniac, until she realized that Max was with her. "Oh God baby I'm so sorry," she cried, reaching her hand back and stroking his hands, feet, face, or whatever she could touch, slowing down her speed and driving normally.

Lyla you are panicking; you are freaking out…you don't need to do that.

It wasn't like he was going to go kill Tim or anything.

There was no immediate danger, she just…she knew that this was not Anne coming back to town. There was something darker here. Tim's father wouldn't be back because he was sick or because he wanted to make amends. If he did, it was because he wanted something. Kidney, liver, or money. Something.

I don't want him near my children.

I don't want him near my husband.

She turned the Lexus into the parking lot of the stadium, beside Tim's fancy truck, with the 'Double Three Contracting' logo on the side, of two threes being hoisted by a crane. Something Matt Saracen had designed at her request.

Annie thought it was cute. She had it on a t-shirt.

Lyla climbed out, shoving her sunglasses up on her head and getting Max's carrier, leaving everything else in the car and hauling him with her; he was still crying. I know baby, I know, we're going to find your favorite person in the world, even more than me, the woman who housed you in my uterus for nine months and gave birth to you. We're going to him right now, I promise.

She found Tim on the sidelines, standing with Billy. They were pointing out something that one of the offensive linemen was doing. "Tim!" she yelled.

He turned around, waving. "Hey, what are you doing here?"

"I have to talk to you, Billy, here…" Lyla passed him Max, who was just full on screaming now, taking Tim's arm and leading him away. She turned around, her hands on his shoulders, looking up at his highly confused look.

Tim shrugged, his hands going into his pockets. "What is going on Garrity? You come roaring in here, freaking out about something, and Max is screaming his head off out there…did something happen?"

She pushed at her forehead. This was a bad idea…she closed her eyes, her hand on her hip, and the other rising to touch her forehead again. I have to just say this. Lyla shook her head, whispering. "Tim…when did you find out your father died?"

He blinked. Waited a second and then swallowed hard, whispering. "Why are you asking about my father?"

"Because we're married and I deserve to know the truth about everything in your life," Lyla breathed. Don't you dare lie to me Tim. I'll know if you do. She felt her heart practically stop in her chest when he glanced away.

Don't lie.

A muscle ticked in his jaw and he closed his eyes, opening them a second later. "Billy told me," he whispered, his hands on his hips. "After we got Sophie, he heard it from a…a friend of Dad's in Corpus. Guy came back to Dillon, wanted to make sure we knew, he heard it from someone down there and Mindy couldn't find him either, she wanted to get him a picture…she couldn't find him."

So twelve years. Maybe.

Third-hand information…probably even fourth-hand.

She shook her head slightly, whispering. "Tim…last week…when Sophie came back? I think…think he came into the coffee shop. He talked to me and today…he was in the bar. I…my dad thinks he saw him…Tim!"

He was already turning away from her.

"No!" Lyla screamed running at him and grabbing his arm, wrenching him back. Tim tried to push her away, but she gripped his wrists, hissing at him. "Don't you dare run away from me! Not now!"

"You're lying!"

"Why would I lie to you?" she snapped, throwing her arms in the air. She couldn't believe him. He was just trying to run away from it. "What would I have to gain from lying about your father to you Tim? Come on, that's ridiculous." She almost growled. "And don't you run away, we've been together for seventeen years!" Off and on, but still.

Tim wrenched away, looking at her, his face falling. He was breathing shallowly. If there were one person she knew he wouldn't be able to survive returning, it would be his father. The emotional abuse that had gone on with him was too much, even years and years later; Tim would have to…relearn, almost. It would be hard.

And then this whole…thought he was dead thing.

He pointed at her. "No, he wasn't…he's dead." His voice cracked, clinging to that belief. "They said he was dead!"

No. He isn't dead. He never was. "He was there in the bar, I talked to him. My dad thought he saw him too."

"Buddy is old…he's…" Tim stammered, clearly not even fully believing what he was saying. He closed his eyes, stumbling back a few steps, covering his face with his hands and leaning forward.

I know, she thought, reaching for him, her arms wrapping around his, pinning them at his sides. He pushed at her a little, but he didn't have much heart in it. She ran her hand over his back. "Tim I don't know," she whispered. "I…I'm almost positive its him."

It had to be him, but why?

"What does he want?" Tim mumbled into her shoulder.

Hell if I know.

Maybe he just wants to see his grandchildren…she didn't know.

After a few minutes, Tim let go of her, stepping away and walking from the side of the bleachers without saying a word. No, no, please don't, she begged silently, staring after him, tears falling down her cheeks.

No, no, no, she cried, wiping at her eyes. She shouted after him, but he didn't turn. "Tim!" She sobbed out again, turning, unable to go through this again. "Tim!"

He didn't come back to her, just walked off, taking Max from Billy. He said a few things, Billy seemed confused, but let him go.

There's no way he was going to do something stupid; he'd probably be home later, but…he needed time alone. No, no he didn't, she thought, the two sides dueling as she cried, covering her face with her hands and slumping down to the ground. This was old Tim, this wasn't…no, he had been so good!

Now he was falling back again; damnit!

Why now, Lyla wondered, shaking her head. She wanted to punch something. Tear something to shreds. She stood, wiping at her eyes, her shoulders shaking from frustration at the situation.

Everything was perfect. Everyone was happy, they…they were so happy…

She cursed the world; that's why this was happening.

They were finally happy.


	6. Sophie Gets Answers

**A/N:**This fic kind of exploded last night. It just seems much longer than the previous one because of the length of the chapters and the triple POVs. It takes a major turn, just warning you, into a bit of a procedural type thing halfway through, but I started writing and it just took me there, fair warning. Enjoy this, I bring in a character who is in the show, but he gets a personality in this fic ;) Enjoy and thank you so much for the kind reviews!

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**Chapter 6: Sophie Gets Answers  
**

"Sophie do you have a boyfriend?" Annie asked, lifting her little feet up as she held on the child barre set that Sophie had bought her last year for her birthday. She had on her new ballet shoes, along with a '33' Panther jersey with her name on the back, a leotard, and a tutu. Her dark hair was pulled up on top of her head in little pigtails.

She could not have been more adorable, Sophie thought, glancing at her niece in the mirror as she rose up onto her toe, working through her practice routine. "A boyfriend?" she asked, glancing at Annie. "_Levez la jambe_, remember what that means?"

"Oh, yeah!" Annie lifted her leg up, smiling, her eyes crinkling. "I did it!"

Yes, you did, if Mikhail could see you, he'd freak out, she thought, laughing at the idea of her creative director, Mikhail, an angry little Russian man who terrified everyone and everything, critiquing a five-year old's ballet steps. Sophie grinned. "Very good. Let's do plies, one, two…"

As she lowered herself to the ground, her arm rising over her head, she thought about the phone call Lyla had made earlier. It freaked her out. Someone wanting money from Lyla wasn't abnormal. She'd had a couple of warning calls from Tim or Lyla to just be on the look for someone who approached her and to call Lyla's attorney and security company if that ever happened.

She couldn't help but feel a bit spooked that there was something else happening. Something Lyla was hiding from her. Which would be weird, because Tim and Lyla didn't hide things from her.

Her phone rang, on the table, playing the Monday Night Football theme. "Football!" Annie yelled, recognizing it. She let go of the barre, running towards it.

"Annie, no!" Sophie exclaimed, sighing. She let go of the barre, walking over to take the phone from Annie, but the little girl was trained well. If the phone rang, you answered it.

"Hello?" Annie giggled, holding it to her ear with both hands. She blinked a couple times, looking up, her face beaming. "This is Annie Riggins! Hi Uncle Noah!"

Come on, Sophie sighed, touching a stray strand of hair on her forehead. She tucked it back into her tight bun on top of her head with a bobby pin, reaching to take the phone from Annie. "Sweetie we don't answer the phone without asking, okay?" she chided her lightly. She patted her shoulder, gesturing for her to return to the barre. "Go keep practicing, let me talk on the phone."

"Okay. Bye Uncle Noah!"

Annie ran off to the barre, beginning to do flips over it. That probably wouldn't end well, but Sophie chose to just let her have fun. She steeled herself against the inevitable conversation, lifting the phone up and mumbling. "What do you want?"

"Nice way to say hello."

She walked away from Annie, around the corner to sit on a bench beside a ton of Tim's power tools he rarely ever used anymore. She drew her knees to her chest, resting her chin on top of them, keeping a close eye on Annie from her perch. "Yeah, well, I don't really have reason to be nice to you now, do I?"

The former boyfriend, or at least, she thought he was former, whereas he believed he was current, sighed heavily. In the background she could hear guys yelling. Someone, probably a coach, shouted at him to get his ass back on the field. "Sophie, please, I didn't mean what I said, come on…you're being ridiculous."

I'm being ridiculous!? "You proposed," she hissed, shaking her head quickly. "I'm twenty-two."

"And I'm twenty-four, what's the big deal?"

"We're too young! I told you that over and over and over again, do you want to be like your parents who got married when they were twenty and had all those problems?"

"Do you want to be like your parents and get married after wasting about twenty years of their life?" he shot back.

They're not my parents, she thought weakly, but that was a stupid comeback. They were her parents more than anything. Sophie closed her eyes, her forehead touching her knee, breathing. "I'm not marrying you. I told you that and you came back with how I was more in love with my career and then how there's no way someone in Russia would take someone like me. I'm sorry Noah, I'm not going to forgive that."

"I told you I was sorry. Over and over and over, what do I have to do? Sophie I love you!"

You love the idea of me. You were my first love. Sophie closed her eyes, covering the back of her head with her hand as she folded into herself. She didn't want to talk any further with him. All it ended up doing was making her heart hurt…make her want to leave things for him…

I can't do that. Ever.

He sighed, whispering, the background noise suddenly gone; he must have gone into another room or something, she thought. Bet the coach wouldn't like that. "Sophie, I love you, okay? I've loved you since the first moment I met you…you were wearing that horrible costume."

Alice in Wonderland…her class's production of it at Julliard. It was her freshman year; she'd been the Queen of Hearts and had to wear this bright, bright red leotard, tutu, and toe-shoes, along with this headpiece of a heart. It looked like someone had stabbed her and she'd just turned red from all the blood.

It was after the production, she was backstage…Tim and Lyla were there, along with Uncle Jason. It was so damn cheesy, she thought, remembering it vividly. I was this dumb little 18-year old…giggling and jumping around and then she'd seen him and automatically shut up. At twenty, he seemed so much…bigger than her.

Didn't help he was a starter for The Ohio State University, he'd taken them to two National Championships, had been an All-American, one of the most sought after and recruited football players in the country…and would surely be a first-round draft pick, if not the first.

I don't date football players, she'd told herself when she was in high school. Until she met David when she was fifteen. He was sweet, he was a starter, but he was also a good student and had no intention of using the sport to get anywhere in life…just out of Dillon.

Noah though…it was his life. Talk about a football player. With talent like that…he was a running back. He was gorgeous, she'd…she'd hated him. Only because she liked him so much.

"Sophie, please come back. Don't run away from me."

I didn't run away from you, she thought feebly, but that was a lie. A tear tracked down her cheek. "I live in London, you said so yourself, it couldn't work out."

"You said that. I said I'd make it work, I just…I'm sorry Sophie, but you need to be realistic and…and giving up on us for this…nebulous dream you have about dancing as prima ballerina in the Bolshoi…I don't accept that as a reason for leaving me…not after what happened."

Yes, after what happened.

Her stupid foot..the stupid accident in practice that she'd just gone ahead and...and made worse. She didn't discuss it, so he'd taken to just calling it 'what happened.' Rather than say she was a total idiot for dancing on an injury.

Not that it mattered anymore.

There was too much going on right now. She wiped at her eyes again. "Noah, please, I need to get back to Annie…"

"Sophie, don't," he almost begged. "Please, I…I'll come out there, I can get away…"

"You have season starting in three weeks," she laughed. They'd already had in-conference games. This was the absolute worst time for him to be leaving. The Browns would have his head. Letting the star player just leave before the season began.

It was too difficult. Cleveland to New York to London relationship? Idiotic. It had been hard enough with him in Columbus and her in New York, even if he did visit his family a lot.

Then there was the whole…secret thing.

Sophie got up from the bench, unfolding herself and walking back into the studio area of the barn, spotting Annie lying on the floor, holding up her ballet shoe and picking at the bottom. She was bored, they had to find something else to do. "Noah I need to go."

"I'll tell Tim," he blurted out.

She froze. You wouldn't. She set her jaw. "That's your way of getting me back?" she snapped. Unbelievable. "You would tell my brother, who you know would kill you and me, you'd tell him without my permission?"

"Maybe Sophie. This is stupid. He loves you, you think he's going to dump you or something because you found love?"

No I think he'll kill you. I think he'll make my life hell wanting to know everything about everything and I won't catch a break. I think it's not worth it to tell Tim anything. This wasn't something he needed to know.

She shook her head, breathing deep. "I have to go. Get back to practice before they kill you."

"Sophie I love you, please, this is insane! You don't have to be scared of it!"

I'm not scared, she immediately thought, disconnecting the phone call and turning off the phone. I'm not scared, she repeated. I'm not scared.

Annie rolled onto her stomach, tapping her fingers on the floor, her feet swinging in the air. "I want to go back to the house," she announced. She flattened herself back out, speaking into the floor, muffled. "I'm bored."

Chewbacca wandered out of one side of the barn, chewing on a piece of wood. Yeah, seemed like everyone was bored, Sophie agreed. She gathered her things and took off her toe-shoes, putting on a pair of UGGS. "Come on," she said, taking Annie's hand. "Let's go make cookies. Think Daddy will like that after work?"

"Daddy doesn't like cookies."

"Oh Daddy loves cookies, Mommy doesn't like him to eat cookies. I know a good cookie recipe, we'll make them with M&Ms and peanut butter," Sophie drawled, reciting a list of some of the most sugary ingredients she could think of, which got Annie excited.

She let go of her hand, ensuring Annie ran straight to the house, rather than away from it. At the base of the stairs, she heard a car pulling into the drive. Sophie tossed her damn hair from her eyes; she had to get it cut again, it kept falling out of the bun, it was too heavy.

Chewbacca stumbled up the steps into the house, followed by her. She set down her bag of dance stuff, glancing into the playroom where Annie was sitting with her Barbies. Good, she was occupied.

There was a truck in the drive; Sophie...it was the truck from the cemetery. She glanced out the side window, next to the door, not recognizing the man standing there, although he appeared familiar.

Lyla's warning echoed in her mind. "Can I help you?" she called, her hand on the doorknob, unmoving.

"Yeah, I was wondering if Tim Riggins was around?"

Tim?

Sophie frowned; turning the knob and pulling the door back, sticking herself between it and the doorframe, ensuring he couldn't see into the house, especially to where Sophie was in the room behind her. Her brow wrinkled, taking in the tall man standing on the threshold.

It was the guy from the cemetery.

And she just couldn't place him. He looked so damn familiar. "Tim is working, may I pass on a message?"

The man smiled, taking a step back. "You. From the cemetery."

"Me. From the cemetery."

He smiled, chuckling. "No message. I'll stop by another time." He gestured to her, frowning a little. "You're Sophie, right?"

"Yes."

"You're a dancer, huh?"

She stiffened, feeling like he was scanning her. Sophie swallowed the lump in her throat, breathing. "I am a dancer." She spoke quickly, to hasten his departure. "I'll tell Tim that you stopped by, who may I say asked for him?"

The man smiled, turning and stepping off the porch, calling over his shoulder. "His old man."

Old man?

Sophie stared after him, gaping. Oh my God. That was…she closed the door quickly, flicking the lock and walking through the playroom into the study beside it, looking around for anything that might have him in it. She found the box at the base of the bookcase next to Tim's desk, falling to her knees and rifling through it.

It was her mother's…scrapbox, so to speak, of everything to do with Tim. Sophie knew she'd seen a picture of him before, in this very box, when she was like sixteen or something. She'd been snooping, as teenagers were wont to do.

It was in here…aha!

Sophie unearthed the photograph of Anne, Tim, and Billy when Tim was a baby. Standing off to the side, but not with the family, was a much, much younger version of the man who had been standing outside on her front porch.

Tim's dad.

Holy balls, she thought, rocking onto her feet, wondering if Tim knew.

Obviously not, he'd have told me, she thought, getting up and leaning on the desk. She knocked over a bunch of papers in her movement, scattering them onto the floor. "Crap," she mumbled, leaning over, the photo of Tim's dad still in her hand, and gathered up the various invoices, receipts, and other stuff Tim had brought home from the office.

A photo slipped out of her fingers.

And it wasn't the one she'd just been holding.

Sophie reached for it, staring at the image. It was her father. Anne and her father…Jack. The name felt foreign to her. She hadn't seen or heard from him…since she was a kid. Even then it was fleeting, because of the custody thing…she didn't like him. She hated him, actually.

Hated for what she'd learned later on in life that he'd said about her mother, about Tim, about Billy, and even about her. Tim and Billy didn't know, but…she was 14. She had to do a school project on her family tree or something and…well she was a good snooper. She'd found what little there was available online and she'd gone to the courthouse in Dillon to find more information.

I vowed I'd never speak to him again, she thought briefly, staring at the man in the photo. He was smarmy. He had blond hair, a fake smile, and too much Botox around his eyes. Anne was gone; she couldn't ask what she saw in the guy.

I have nothing of him inside of me, Sophie thought, setting the picture on the desk, standing up to her feet. Why was this out? Why was Tim bringing it out again?

The front door opened, Lyla yelling through the house. "Tim! Are you here?" She emerged in the doorway, her face streaked with tears and dirt. "Sophie, have you seen Tim?"

Sophie shook her head, tucking both photographs into the back of her workout capris, the cool paper pressed against her bare skin. "No," she said, licking her lips. She lifted an eyebrow. "Are you okay?"

"I…I have a lot going on right now," Lyla said, covering something. She nibbled on her lower lip, shaking her head slightly, her brow wrinkling. "I hate to do this, can you please watch Annie for the rest of the day? I…I have to find Tim."

You're not going to tell me what's going on either, huh? Protect little Sophie, that seemed to be the way Tim's mind worked. Lyla's too. She arched her eyebrow higher, her lip curving up with it, playing dumb. "Is there something I can help with?"

"Just…make sure if someone comes to the house looking for Tim, you don't let him inside. Don't tell him about you, it's…it's just related to that thing I told you about earlier," Lyla lied. Rather convincingly, I had no idea you were that good, Sophie mused.

Too late.

She wanted to protect Tim; wanted to protect her niece and nephew, but she did not liked being lied to. Especially because she knew the basis of it was probably to protect her. Sophie shook her head slightly, whispering, watching Lyla's reaction. "A guy came to the house a few minutes ago, asking for Tim. He looked kind of like him actually, but…he doesn't have an uncle or anything, his dad's dead, right?"

Right?

Lyla didn't move a muscle. She pursed her lips, obviously fighting internally about telling her. She released a shaky sigh, breathing. "Sophie I am so sorry, I didn't…didn't tell you earlier, I just…I don't even know what to believe anymore myself. Tim never really discussed his father with me…I believed he was dead and so did Tim but…" Lyla stepped closer towards her, keeping her voice down, her eyes focused on her face. "Sophie, I think his father might be back in Dillon and I don't know how Tim is going to react, because right now he has Max and left without telling me where he was going."

Son of a bitch, Sophie thought. She reached behind her, removing the photo of Tim's father from her waistband, flicking it towards Lyla. "This is the guy who just came to the house," she murmured. She shrugged; Lyla seemed as much in the dark on this as she did.

Which told her something far more important was at work, because Tim didn't keep Lyla out of anything. The fact that he was…not good. Sophie had heard stories of how he was before…well before she came along and before Lyla came back. When he was just…sad. Aunt Becky told her once that Tim looked like he'd seen the whole world and not the good parts, even when he'd pretty much never left Dillon.

She felt her voice tremble, even though she tried to hide it. "I don't understand what's going on Lyla, please tell me? Is Tim in trouble now or something?" What could his father possibly do to him that Lyla seemed so terrified of happening?

Her sister-in-law closed her eyes, fingers tight on the photo. She opened them; the dark brown irises were clouded with tears. "Sophie you're an adult now," Lyla breathed, reaching her hand to wrap over her wrist. "And I'm not going to lie to you anymore, but Tim's father? Anne returning was fine; worrisome, but in the end it all worked out for the best. Tim's father emotionally abused him for much of his life. Made him feel worthless…maybe he loved him, I don't know, Tim doesn't talk about it, but he pushed him hard, he was not…it seems he was not a good person and Tim thought he was dead. Now it seems he's back and I can assure you that Walt Riggins didn't return to town to get to know his grandchildren."

He wants something, Sophie concluded. What?

And what was that going to do to Tim?

Lyla seemed to read her mind, chuckling and shaking her head, smiling, almost manic. "I don't know what it's going to do to Tim, Sophie, but…he ran away after he heard the news. This is not good for Tim. It's not for anyone, really until we know what is happening and Tim's first reaction is to run away…he hasn't done that since you came along."

Yeah, I kind of figured. Sophie nibbled her bottom lip. What the hell could she do?

Lyla set the picture back down on the desk. "I'm going to go back out, see if I can find him. Stay here with Annie. I don't think Billy knows, but don't say anything to him until I can try to find Tim and start figuring this out…it might not be as bad as Tim or I even think."

It doesn't seem that way. Sophie wanted to ask about her father. Lyla said nothing; hell, she probably didn't even know.

She shoved the photo back beneath the desk plotter, pushing away and following Lyla out of the study.

Looks like it was going to be an interesting visit back for sure.


	7. Tim's Run In

**Chapter 7: Tim's Run In**

Where are you going?

What the hell are you even doing Riggins?

Tim glanced sideways at Max, who was staring up at him, not saying a word. Well he wouldn't, he was like three months old, but…he was positive if the kid could talk he'd be asking the same questions.

You know you're kidnapping me, Max told him. He made a few sounds, moving around, his tiny hands waving.

Can't even hold your head up and you're telling me what to do.

He reached his hand over, fiddling with Max's fingers, feeling them clench around his. Right now he was just driving. Anywhere and everywhere, just trying to process what Lyla had told him.

Dad was back.

The last time he saw his father, he was a sophomore, after the disastrous visit to Corpus Christi and his father returning. The whole being wrong about him thing. The whole freaking camera thing. The constant emotional abuse about how he wasn't good enough, he could try as hard as he could in football but his dad was always going to ride his ass for something on it.

Or if he was even remotely better as his father at one thing, that was just enough to push him over the edge.

I swore I'd never be like that with Sophie. Or Annie. Or Max. "I promised," he whispered, glancing down at Max, who was gumming on his finger. He smiled. Nothing better than being covered in baby drool.

Hell son, you're like a damn fountain, he thought, frowning slightly at Max, who was doing his best impersonation of a St. Bernard with the amount of drool accumulating on his chin.

Why did you run away?

All Garrity was telling you what she saw. He just didn't want to hear it. Didn't want to hear her telling him it would be okay, they just needed more information…he had to get out of there.

He tried to run it through his head again; Billy wouldn't have lied to him. No way.

It had been a couple years after Anne died; Billy came over and told him that a guy that knew Dad from Corpus Christi had been at practice, watching with some other guys, mentioned that he'd heard he'd had a heart attack. Died.

No one told them, no cops or anything, but then again, it wasn't like Walt had written them down as next of kin or even cared. It was hard enough to get in touch with him if they had to, but…Tim didn't feel much when he heard that news. He'd just returned to Sophie, told Garrity when she came back for Christmas that year, during one of their marathon bedroom sessions before she went back to New York, and it was done with.

No funeral, nothing; he didn't feel the need to go to find a grave or ask around or get any possessions.

It was far, far different from Anne.

So it had been fourth-hand information probably. Maybe he'd had a heart attack but didn't die, people just guessed. Tim had no idea. He didn't really want to know. He just…he wasn't sure what to do.

Just that he'd wanted to get away.

He pulled the truck over at Buddy's Bar, climbing out and strapping on the Bjorn, which was the easiest way for him to carry Max around; he hated holding onto the carrier and he always panicked thinking he'd left him somewhere and had just walked off. He'd done that once with Annie; the reaction from Lyla when she found out wasn't the best.

He didn't want to repeat it.

Tim carried Max into the bar, his arms wrapped around his son. He scanned the large space and the restaurant attached to it, seeing nothing but tourists and locals. He didn't see his father or anyone who looked like his father.

This made no sense.

Sophie's father was driving a truck that Lyla seemed to indicate was the same that his father was driving. Why were both of them back? Did they know each other?

He walked into the back, finding Buddy and Angela bickering over where to go on vacation. "Tyra doesn't want to see us again after what happened the last time we went to visit her," Angela lamented, throwing down a flyer for Costa Rica. "Let's go to the Caribbean!"

Yeah, Tyra made it clear they couldn't come back to her Hollywood Hills mansion after the two of them had broken several of her expensive decorations and ruined her kitchen trying to make dinner. Tim also figured that Todd, her husband, an entertainment lawyer, had laid down the law on that issue.

He didn't want to deal with Buddy and Angela drama. "Buddy can I ask you a question," he demanded, not even waiting for Buddy to answer. He looked straight into his father-in-law's eyes, asking, and his voice soft. "Did you see my father in here earlier?"

Angela was next to him, trying to lean into the Bjorn to take Max out; the baby started to cry, not liking the jostling that was ongoing. Tim barely noticed, too busy hinging on Buddy's answer.

The older man hesitated, as though he were unsure whether his answer would do more harm than good, or if it was a trick question. He closed is mouth, looking down at his hands, folded on the desk. "I…I might have seen him, but I don't know." He shrugged. "Tim it's been years since I saw your father. Last time you saw him, I imagine son."

Son.

That was funny Buddy called him that, given their topic of conversation.

Tim found it ironic that Buddy Garrity had become more of a father to him than anyone else, except for maybe Billy or Coach Taylor. Even when Billy and him were on the outs, Buddy was there.

He smiled slightly; probably wouldn't have been that way if Lyla and him hadn't started going out. He looked down at the empty Bjorn; Max was now cooing happily in his grandmother's arms. "Angela I'm going to need him back, his mother gets annoyed when I return home without him," he said to her, walking towards Buddy.

Why was Walt here? He leaned on the desk, leaning in to Buddy, whispering. "I don't think I need to tell you that I don't want him near my kids."

I don't want him near me.

Which was kind of a problem, because he needed to know what his father was doing here if he wanted to watch out for Annie and Max. He closed his eyes, whispering. "If he comes to the stadium…"

"Don't worry," Buddy said with a small smile, patting his hand. He straightened up, his 'Booster' face on. "I got it under control."

Words that normally made him nervous. He nodded quickly, stepping backwards. He turned away from Buddy, collecting Max from Angela and setting him back in the Bjorn, on his way out of the bar when he ran into someone else he wanted to see.

"Coach," he sighed, almost relieved to see Coach Taylor climbing from his Explorer.

"Billy said you ran out of practice like the devil was chasing you. You okay?" Eric asked, keeping his voice soft. He smiled down at Max, who was looking up at them. This kid's sleep schedule was going to be a mess for the next week and a half, Tim figured, smiling a little and lifting him out of the Bjorn so Eric could see. "Aw," he chuckled, running his knuckle over Max's cheek, getting him to smile a little. "He's getting pretty big. Gonna' play for the Panthers one day, huh?"

"If his grandfather has anything to say about it." Tim shifted a little, holding Max against his chest, using his forearm to prop up his son's feet. He knew he could tell Coach Taylor just about anything; he just wasn't sure he should do it here of all places.

He was about to ask if he had a second to talk, when a dark blue truck pulled into the parking lot.

Oh no.

Instantly his heart began to thud, palms sweat, and pulse race. He felt a little sick to his stomach too; watching as his father slowly unfolded himself from the truck, closing the door behind him. Walt had aged…okay. He was still rather good-looking, despite the slight yellowing of his skin, probably from the alcoholism.

At least he had his hair; Tim figured that was good for him in the long run, even if it was now silver. He drew his back up, clutching Max even tighter against him. I wish I could just snap my fingers and you'd disappear back to your mom or something, he thought.

Or if I could do that, I wish I could just snap my fingers and disappear too.

I'm 40-freaking-years-old. Why do I feel so terrified of doing this? Tim stared at his father, not breaking eye contact as Walt finally stopped in front of him. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice cracking.

"Is that any way to say hello to your father Timmy? Look at this boy here! He's gonna' be a bruiser one day!" Walt reached for Max, but Tim immediately turned away, just as Eric stepped between the both of them.

Eric crossed his arms over his chest, staring him down. "I think you should get back in your truck and turn around," he advised, pointing off to the truck. "And go back to wherever it was you came from."

Walt smiled slowly, glancing beyond Eric towards Tim.

He seemed sad.

Tim didn't care.

Just go away, Tim begged, feeling like a kid again. And he hated feeling like that again. He didn't want to deal with this. Just go away. Please. Leave me alone, I was happy.

For God's sakes, I was actually happy.

Could he just never be happy? Once something good happened, something bad always had to come along. This had been the longest streak. Almost 17-years of happiness and now apparently that streak was over.

"Is that how you say hi to your father Tim? Come on, it's been forever, I don't get a hello?" Walt called, as Tim walked over to his truck, holding a now crying Max, who was clearly sensing the discord. He laughed, a raspy smoker's laugh, his voice calling out, a bit quieter. "I heard about your mom."

Don't you talk about Mom.

He swung open the door, setting Max in the seat and shoving the Bjorn in the back beside Max. He didn't say anything, finally glancing over at Walt, who had taken a step back towards his truck, with Coach Taylor making sure to stand as guard or something.

How sad is it that I still need Coach to fight my battles?

Tim closed his eyes briefly, knowing this wasn't the last he'd see of Walt. He shook his head slightly, calling out. "Go back to Corpus, Dad. Heard you were dead, maybe that was better for the both of us."

Walt's face fell briefly.

Tim felt like he suddenly had a weight gone from his shoulders. Wow. That felt good to say. It was horrible, but…he'd never done that before. Hadn't stuck up for himself like that before with Walt.

Wow.

He lifted his face again, eyes wide. He closed his mouth, swallowing hard. Walt shook his head, chuckling and wagging his finger at him. "You know, Jack said you were a fighter…guess I really should have believed him. Always knew you had something inside of you to fight for what you wanted."

Jack?

Tim left the door open, walking around the bed of his truck. "Get back son," Eric warned, his hands going to his shoulders, turning him around. "Go back home."

"You know, I heard about that little girl you adopted." Walt shrugged, his voice soft again. "Seems like a sweet kid."

Sophie.

Don't talk about Sophie.

Tim felt something inside of him snap.

He lunged, but Eric pushed him back. "Let go of me Coach!" he yelled, trying to hit him off. Walt seemed surprised at the reaction, trying to move towards him, all the while Eric kept pushing him back to the truck.

"Get out of here Walt!" Eric yelled over his shoulder, while Tim tried to fight him off. He pushed him against the truck, as Walt just nodded, walking back to his.

Tim felt wild; he didn't know why he was so angry, or where all this rage was coming from, but he wanted to hit his father. For saying Sophie's name. For knowing who she was. For everything. "Stay away from her!" he screamed, seeing nothing but blinding red. He hated him. He hated him.

Stay away from Sophie; don't go after Sophie…

Please, don't bring Sophie into this, no…Tim felt another course of rage through him, finally managing to push Coach away and trying to run after the truck, but Walt was already backing out. "Stay away from her!" he yelled, hoping his good for nothing father heard. "Just go away!"

I need to get to the house.

Billy, shit. Someone still had to warn Billy.

It was like history repeating itself, only unlike the last time, with his mother's reappearance…Walt was seeking him out and was making no bones about it; he was aggressive, he'd already approached Lyla, Sophie, and now him. And he probably didn't want a kidney.

He wanted money. Or something else.

Jack McConnell was involved. Sophie's father. His father.

How could this have possibly happened?

He turned in circles a few times. The sound of the bar and restaurant was so happy and joyous. People getting drunk, enjoying their days of summer…meanwhile he was reeling once again.

Never once in his life did he question. Never once did he say 'oh woe is me.' Or ask why. Why him? Not once. He took it, he dealt with it, and he moved on. Maybe he didn't deal with it the way he should have. Maybe he bottled things up, like Lyla said. Or maybe he drank too much. Or maybe he was just angry and bitter, like Tyra said.

Eric approached him, touching his shoulder lightly. "You need to get back to your son, he's crying," he reminded him, his voice gentle. He nodded towards the road. "I'll see you at your home. I'll tell Billy to stop by, but I won't tell him why."

"Okay." Tim set his jaw, whispering. "Thank you Coach."

All Coach did was nod; not once did he ever ask for anything in return. When all I ever gave him was grief, Tim thought, walking through the gravel parking lot to his truck, climbing inside and cranking the A/C as far as he could get it, leaning back and reassuring Max he was there.

Max was screaming his head off, big gulping baby cries, his face bright red and eyes watering. I'm sorry, he thought, closing his and leaning against the seat, his hand stretched back, lightly patting Max, moving him back and forth in his carrier, to calm him down.

I'm so sorry for all of this.

He reached for his phone with his free hand, hitting the icon for Lyla. It rang once; not even once, before she was yelling. "Tim! Where are you? I'm driving all over town!"

"I at the bar, I…I'm on my way home," he whispered, closing his eyes again. He was sorry for her too. He shook his head. "My dad…I just saw him. I…there's a lot to explain…I'll be home."

"Tim."

"I love you," he whispered. That should shut her up. He didn't say it often. Not like this. Not unprompted.

Lyla took a deep breath, going silent. See Garrity? This is big. "I love you too," she replied, her voice soft. She sighed again. "Tim, please come home. This doesn't have to be the way it was before, it's different now."

It was different now.

Which was why, he decided, disconnecting from her a moment later, after assuring her he would be home soon, that Max was okay, and they could all talk then. To not worry Sophie, don't worry Annie…he'd be home.

He decided, that this wasn't…he wasn't…

I'm Tim Riggins, I'm 40-years old, I'm married, I was guardian to my little sister for most of her entire life, and I have two children who are not ever going to know what I knew at their ages, he told himself.

I'm not going to be scared of him anymore.


	8. Lyla's Encounter

**Chapter 8: Lyla's Encounter**

Lyla set her phone down, relieved that Tim was on his way back with Max. She was on the other side of town and was on her way towards Buddy's when he called. This was just…she had no idea what to make of any of this. She did a U-turn, hitting the accelerator and heading towards home.

As she drove, she wondered what in the hell they were going to do. The last seven years had been uneventful, other than…good things. Happy things. Things that actually had changed Tim from a bitter, sullen guy who drank all the time to this happy family man, who was an amazing father to both Sophie and the little ones.

I always saw it, I always knew he had it inside of him and he found it. He found what he wanted out of life and it wasn't just one person. It was this…this life he'd been building for himself since he got out of jail.

Lyla only believed she'd had a fraction of a role in the change; it was all Tim.

Now that was threatened, by this reappearance.

Maybe they were jumping to conclusions. They were just assuming…maybe it was like Anne…God, she'd already been through that in her head. It wasn't like Anne.

Someone put that rose at her gravesite with 'I'm sorry.' Jack or Walt.

Lyla was putting money on Walt; Sophie's father seemed…just more devious. He broke the law, he tried to screw over Anne while she was alive, and he tried to do it again after she was dead. He wouldn't apologize for her death or anything. Unless he'd changed or something.

Then why wasn't he just coming out of the woodwork and approaching Sophie? Why involve Walt somehow? It was too much of a coincidence the two of them at the same time coming back to Dillon.

She leaned against the window, staring at the empty road ahead of her, leading towards her home. Home. This place was as much her home as Tim's.

The house loomed on the horizon as she came over a hill, slowing down as she reached the drive, turning into it and driving up to park beside Tim's truck. Lyla climbed out, going up into the house, throwing her bag and keys on the bench in the mudroom off the kitchen. She kicked off her shoes, hurrying into the living room, where Sophie was sitting on the floor with Annie.

"Where's Tim?" she demanded.

Sophie just pointed towards the porch. "Max is upstairs, trying to sleep," she called.

Yeah, he better be sleeping, or we're all going to be up all night as he tries to get it back on track. Lyla opened the French doors out to the porch, glancing left and then right, seeing Tim out near some of the trees, sitting in a chair he'd clearly dragged out there.

She didn't like when he went to sit there; it was his dark brooding place. Tyra said it was where they'd sat a lot of the time, when she came back and they hooked up. It was his place with Tyra, was how Lyla put it together and she didn't like to intrude on it.

Even seventeen-years later.

Lyla stepped off the porch, walking towards him, stopping behind him. "Tim."

"Yeah."

She glanced at beside him, where there was a six-pack. Only one slot was empty.

Thankfully.

She leaned down, picking the beer up and walked away, forcing him to get up and follow her. She set it on the porch and glanced over her shoulder to ensure he was with her, walking back out towards the barn, away from his brooding place.

"You going to yell at me for having one beer?"

"You going to try to fight me or something?" Lyla demanded, turning around and stopping hard, forcing him back a step. She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at him. Don't do this Tim. She shook her head, whispering. "First you run away and now you try to push me back? What is this high school?" She arched an eyebrow, challenging him, her voice dropping. "Not going to work Tim."

A muscle ticked in his jaw. He scowled. He still wanted to fight with her. "You enjoy telling me what to do?"

"I'm your wife, it's kind of my job," she snapped. "Especially when you're being a complete idiot."

"Now I'm an idiot?"

"Tell me what is going on and maybe I won't call you an idiot!" she yelled.

Silence plunged between both of them, with just her breathing hard and staring at him, waiting for a reaction and Tim glaring at her, his hand tight around the bottle of beer.

The next response was not what she was expecting.

All of a sudden Tim yelled, throwing down the beer bottle in his hand, where it crashed on the hard-packed dirt. Lyla jumped back, out of the way of shattered glass, her hands outstretched. Oh my God. She slowly brought them to cover her mouth, stunned at that reaction.

He seemed stunned as well, looking at the glass.

She took a few shallow breaths. Okay, okay…no one was hurt, she was fine…she…she made a step towards him, wrapping her arms around him, but he didn't move, too busy looking at the glass. He hadn't had a reaction like that in…well she couldn't even remember. Maybe high school. Maybe after he got out of jail, she wasn't sure.

All that mattered was he was as surprised at it as she was and no one was hurt. I'm fine, she thought, holding him close. "I'm fine, you didn't hurt me," she whispered, kissing his cheek, smoothing her hand over his hair. She rocked lightly, like he was one of the kids. "I'm okay."

He buried his face into her shoulder, mumbling. "I'm sorry."

"I know." Lyla kissed his face, finally taking his lips with hers, her fingers stroking at his cheeks. He bit down on her lip, pushing her towards the bar. He was rough, his hands grabbing at her shirt and skin. She tasted blood on her tongue, his mouth hot on her face as he kissed down to her neck. No, no Tim, not…not like this. "Tim, stop."

Again, a reaction that hadn't occurred in years. I know you just want release, you just don't want to think, but we can't do that, she thought, focusing on him again, keeping him a step away from her.

He froze. Lifted his face towards hers. He was so broken. I thought we wouldn't have to deal with this again, she thought, taking his face back into her hands. "Tim, before…before you start to kill yourself and beat yourself up and go back in that dark place you haven't had to go to in years, we need to talk this out…need to find out why your father is here and Sophie's father and…and let her know we know and everything…she knows about Walt, I told her, but not everything."

You need to talk to her. She's your little sister and she deserves to know.

Someone had to let Billy know, she thought again.

He brushed his lips over her cheek, far gentler than a moment before. Her eyes fluttered shut. I love you, she thought, her arms wrapping around him. "You need to hear him out, like you did with Anne…I know it's going to be so hard, but…" she trailed off, hearing his breathing deepen a little at the mention of his mother.

It still hurt him, the memory of her; the loss of her when it seemed like he would finally have a parent in his life. Not a brother as a parent or a Coach. Or even his girlfriend's father, she thought with a small smile, thinking of Buddy. The woman who was his mother, who should have been there in the first place.

"I loved him," he whispered, holding her a little tighter, his voice muffled as he spoke into her hair. He breathed shakily. "I loved my father and turned around and…and everyone was right about him. Billy was right…he was right when he said he'd just take advantage and disappoint…and Coach was right, I told Coach he was wrong, but he was right and I just…"

It hurts, when they fall off the pedestal, she thought, kissing his shoulder, whispering. "I know." They're our parents. They're supposed to be perfect, so when they fall, you fall harder.

Tim pulled back, looking out at the horizon, quiet. "What was it you said? He emotionally abused both of us. I guess I knew that, but…" He sighed, dropping his eyes to the ground, mumbling. "He hit Mom…hit Billy. I was…he never did that with me, but…he just told me I wasn't good enough. You know all this." His eyes met hers; they crinkled slightly, when his lip curved up. "He was into football, he…only time he was ever happy about both of us was when we were playing football and…and God help Billy if he didn't complete a pass or something. He left before he could really see me play Panther ball, but he was still there…at the games."

That was the only time you ever had a father, was at the football games. She remembered he told her that, years before, after Anne returned. The last time he saw him was at the football game. "But even then…he didn't like that we were better than him," Tim whispered. He flicked his eyes towards her. "I loved him, idolized him and…" he sighed, speaking the quiet realization he'd come to decades before. "And all he did was just…forget me."

Too many people forgot you. Not everyone.

Lyla cupped his face in her hands, touching their foreheads together. She stroked his cheek lightly and closed her eyes, brushing her lips over his. He closed his hands around her wrists, standing still. "He was your father and you loved him, but sometimes some people aren't good enough to be parents and shouldn't be. Sometimes they make mistakes…my dad is a prime example or…or even Anne. In the end though she was your mother and you loved her and she loved you, but…Tim…hear him out."

As scared as he made me feel in the bar or even in the bakery, I can't think that horribly about someone until I know for sure, Lyla thought, her brow wrinkling. Because he did seem genuinely sad when he saw Max and Annie…or mentioned you.

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, but she kept them from falling. She had to be strong. Above all else, she had to be strong because Tim was going to be fighting hard on this one. "Maybe he just wants to see you, he's old Tim. He's probably at the end of his life and he just wants to see his son."

And he could have done a better job of going about it, but he…well no one said that Riggins men thought well.

Tim shook his head slightly, whispering. "As much as I think that…I just…I wanted to hurt him Lyla. I didn't like that. I didn't like feeling that anger…I…I haven't felt like that since jail." He swallowed hard, his eyes wide. "With Billy."

"And you're scared of having that feeling again." Like a moment before; when you threw the beer bottle.

He leaned against her harder, his cheek resting against the crook of her neck. I'm sorry, she thought, stroking at his hair, her arm wrapping tighter around him. "You think he just wants to see me?"

I don't know Tim. "There's only one way to find out," she whispered.

"Why bring in Sophie's dad?"

That I don't know. I don't have an answer to that one. Lyla shook her head, whispering. "I don't know Tim, but again, there's only one way to find out and…and you have to bring Sophie into it."

And she knew he was scared of doing that. Of having Sophie have to get involved in this side of life. She's not a baby anymore Tim; she hasn't been a child since she was five years-old. You tried to protect her.

You and Billy tried, she thought, hoping he understood it. Neither of you can protect her from the big bad world forever. She's a grown woman, she needs to know, she…she lost her mother when she was a child. She's been grown up for a long time.

Lyla let go of him, wiping at his face, touching her lips to his briefly. "Go up to the house," she whispered. "Clean yourself up and go hold your kids. Trust me on this Tim."

"What about Billy…Sophie…"

"I'll call Billy and you tell him later. Sophie will learn soon enough, later. Just now…just right now go hold your kids." Remind yourself that this is your life now; you don't have to be scared of your father anymore, you don't need to be afraid anymore…you don't need to feel like your world is crumbling before you even know why things might be changing.

Or if they even were.

Lyla let go of him, watching him walk back up to the house. She glanced down at the glass, knowing it needed to be cleaned up, but right now…she didn't want to do it. She pushed away from the bar, walking towards her car.

She'd left Max's baby bag in it; she had to get some other things too. Some work she needed to get to…once things calmed down. If they ever did.

The waiting was the hardest part. Until Walt made his move again.

Lyla closed the door, freezing in place.

Or she didn't have to wait anymore.

Walt stood next to her, his hands shoved into his pockets. His truck was parked on the side of the road. He seemed nervous, Lyla thought. She wondered if he'd been drinking. She was glad that they were on the other side of the car, away from the windows; Tim wouldn't be able to see them if he were looking outside.

She kept her hand on her laptop bag; maybe she could throw it at him if she needed.

"What do you want?" she demanded.

He glanced at the house and then to her. "I…look…I went to talk to you first, because I figured you could get through to my son. I know it looks bad, me showing up like this…"

"You think?" Lyla snapped. She tucked the bag under her arm, shaking her head in disbelief. Her brow wrinkled and she scowled. "You show up here after over 20 years and you expect a warm welcome from your son? The son you humiliated when you were in his life? Who you abused and made feel like he wasn't worth anything? And you want to know why he didn't come running at you with open arms?"

Walt closed his eyes, sighing hard. "Look…Lyla…"

Don't say my name, she thought, lifting her finger, warning him. She couldn't believe this. Anger began to fill her up, even if she didn't have all the information. She was protecting Tim on this, she told herself, fighting her natural instinct to just be welcoming and forgiving.

It was something she'd gotten good at over the years.

"I am only standing here listening to you because I love my husband and I don't want him to be hurt. You come back with Jack McConnell?" she spit out. "What is your angle? You want money?" she continued, feeling anger and hatred inside of her. She hated feeling like that. It made her feel dirty. This black, dark feeling inside.

"No," he exclaimed. He looked back at the house again, clearly nervous being around here. "Look, I didn't think it would be easy okay sweetheart?" he snapped. He shook his head again, frowning and pointing at her. "I thought it was okay to go talk to Tim, but he freaked out on me, okay? Figured I'd try you next."

"He freaked out because your existence threatens his family," Lyla whispered, lifting her eyebrows, like it was the most obvious answer, but of course, Walt was still thinking of his son as a teenager.

"I'm not threatening him," Walt said. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. "I just want to see my son. It's been awhile…"

"You think?"

He rolled his eyes at her, but laughed. "You're a little spitfire, ain't ya'?"

"Tim wouldn't have married me if I was a doormat," Lyla said, shifting her weight to her other foot. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, her voice cool. "So what do you want?"

Walt shook his head, whispering. "I want to see my son. I want to warn him."

Warn him?

Lyla arched a brow. "Oh?"

"I'm not here on accident, I'm here because Jack McConnell found me in Galveston." Walt took a deep breath, shaking his head and whispering, completely serious, completely sober. "And he's the one that wants money. He's the one Tim needs to be worried about."

And that feeling Lyla got in the coffee shop and in the bar…it seemed to disappear.

He was telling the truth.

Walt whispered again, dead serious. "McConnell wants Tim's blood and maybe I feel guilty for bringing him straight to my son. Maybe in the last couple of weeks I've thought of a few things as I've seen him and my grandkids and you and…and all that's changed. Maybe I finally want to do something that's right, okay?"

Lyla closed her eyes; she was right.

This certainly wasn't going to end well.


	9. Sophie Gets An Offer

**A/N:**Thank you for all the reviews! They mean a lot. I'm glad people are enjoying this and I take back everything I said about it being short; just finished a chapter last night that I might have to split up into three different chapters. Anyway, enjoy this and thanks for the reviews! There's a lot of storylines that kind of start popping up, so hopefully I can manage them all satisfactorily. :)

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**Chapter 9: Sophie Gets An Offer**

Tim was weird.

Sophie had seen him come back inside, go straight upstairs, and then come back downstairs. He hadn't left the playroom with Annie. Lyla had been outside for a long time, not coming back in for a while, and when she did, she went straight upstairs too.

This whole Tim's-Dad-Returning-Thing was ridiculous. Sophie didn't know what to make of it; she also wanted to know why her father was involved, through the photograph that was out on the desk. She'd ask Tim later, but right now she was stuck in a dilemma.

"I am not a choreographer," she said, speaking on the phone with one of her former instructors from Julliard, who was a Tony-winning lyricist. She'd also stayed in contact with him throughout her time there and after; he'd become a close friend and mentor. She sighed, rolling her eyes. "Mark, I'm not a choreographer, I know I was your favorite student, but seriously now, that was an elective!"

"Come on Sophie, I think it will be inspiring that the dance moves for this musical were choreographed by one of the relatives of one of the characters who inspired it!"

She rolled her eyes, reaching into her suitcase and removing a shirt, walking towards the closet to hang it up; she was in her little apartment in the barn, the A/C cranked high, but the sun was beaming straight through the windows as it set, preventing it from really feeling cool. "Mark, I'm a ballet dancer with the Royal Ballet in London. I want the Bolshoi, not Broadway."

Mark Weinstein, one of her favorite instructors, had acquired the rights to her Aunt Julie's novel about a football-obsessed town told from the point-of-view of a coach's daughter, detailing crazy teenage relationships and drama. She claimed it was fiction.

Yeah, right, sure.

It had taken forever, but Aunt Julie was finally selling the rights to her novel, first to a small production company, which was developing a television show, but they stopped because of budget reasons. They were supposed to make a movie, but then the company wouldn't agree to Julie's orders that she get first right of refusal on all changes to the story and the actor selection. Now it was going to Broadway and from what Sophie had heard through her family, it was going well.

Whatever was going on with it, good or bad, it was weird that he wanted her to do the dance steps. "I mean," she sighed, walking back to the bed and taking another shirt from her suitcase, which had arrived from London a couple days ago. She waved the shirt in the air, briefly entertaining the crazy idea. "You want ballet inspired or…"

"Modern dance, these are teenagers we're talking about. I'll send you the outline of the book, I've got one song done so far, rough drafts of course on everything, the music will accompany it once I get my partner's head out of his ass."

Broadway, not Bolshoi, this was…Sophie sighed, setting her shirt down in the suitcase, whispering. "This is a big thing, Julie said that it's got tons of backing behind it and…you want an inexperienced…come on, I barely have a year in with the Royal Ballet!"

"And you'll have plenty more, but this is just something to do in your time off, I heard you hurt your foot…"

My foot is fine. She stiffened, whispering. "That's not why I took time off, I took time off to see my family and we had a scheduled vacation break anyway…"

Mark snorted. "Rumor on the street is you took time off for a guy."

"Lies."

"Just think about it, I'll send you the lyrics. What I really want is your idea of a dance for the duet towards the end, even if you choose not to choreograph the whole thing."

"Which duet?" she asked. The whole damn thing was duets. It was about relationships between friends, family, and all that entailed. She walked over to the window, peering out and seeing Tim sitting on the back porch with a beer. Perfect, now maybe she could get some answers.

Mark rambled about how the idea for the musical was lots of duets with a couple of bit numbers and then one or two solos for the main characters and he had an idea for two big group numbers, one at the beginning and one at the end. She perked up when she heard him finally answer her question. "The duet at the end, the song is tentatively titled 'Stay.'"

I think I know who that's about, she thought, spying one of the characters walking out of the house to say something to the other. "I'll think about it," she mused.

"It's got overlapping parts," Mark continued, like he didn't hear her. "They sing different portions of the song at different parts, showing that each character is on a different path…I think the dance should reflect that and then I want a definite rock theme for Tom's anthem in the beginning, lots of cheerleaders dancing in the background and I want him jumping around on the bleachers and swinging from the goalposts that will be set up on stage."

After a few minutes of trying to convince him she wasn't going to choreograph anything, Sophie finally disconnected. She glanced at the phone, seeing it ringing with a new call. I'm just a famous person tonight, she thought, sighing and answering it, even though she knew she shouldn't. "What do you want?"

"I want you to talk to me."

"We talked earlier, I'm not talking to you anymore."

"You answered your phone."

"Noah," Sophie exclaimed; God, he infuriated her! This was why they couldn't be together. They were too different. They fought all the time. Yes, making up was the best part, but when you just fought to get to that part, that wasn't a relationship.

That was a cry for a much-needed session with a therapist.

"Why are you mad at me?" he laughed. "I'm the one who called expecting the voicemail, all I was saying is I am going to be visiting my grandparents…"

Aw, crap.

"Next week."

She pushed her hand into her forehead. "Noah, come on!" Why are you making this so difficult? She licked her lips, shaking her head and hitting it against the wall. I want to put my head through the wall. She mumbled. "You don't have to do this."

He was quiet; there was something she hated about Noah Street and that was that he could sense things she didn't want him to know. Or even if she did want him to know. "Something's wrong," he announced.

However did you know, she thought to snarkily ask, but she was too tired. "I have to go talk to Tim, I'll talk to you later."

"Something's wrong Sophie. What aren't you telling me?"

Tears pricked her eyes; sometimes it was too hard to always be so…strong. She hiccupped, wiping at her eyes. Feeling stupid. Why are you crying, you don't even know what's going on, she said, feeling so dumb. She wiped her eyes again, releasing a quick sob. "I don't know, but…I think my father is back in Dillon."

Noah waited a beat. "Father?"

"Yeah," she whispered, nodding quickly. "And Tim isn't talking to me about something and…and it's been a week but I feel like something's happening and I don't know what is going on and I just…he never lies to me, but he's lying!"

"Sounds like you need to talk to him."

Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of, she thought. She picked at her nail polish, whispering. "I don't want to see my dad again."

"I know."

"He was horrible, he just…I don't even remember him. He went to jail when I was two and I just…he didn't even come find me after he got out, after mom died and I just…" I don't ever want to see him. I'm not even a kid anymore, he can't get custody of me or anything.

Noah cleared his throat, whispering. "He can't get custody of you anymore, but he can get money. You still have that trust fund Lyla put up for you?"

Yes. She still had the trust fund; she had all the money Lyla and Tim had given her over the years, but she didn't touch it. It wasn't hers to touch. I don't want you to give me anything, she'd told them, but they completely ignored her.

Go after the weak one, come back to Dillon, try to find me…get money…sounded like something her cowardly father might do. Sophie closed her eyes, listening to him breathe. It was so nice. She felt a tear leak out of the corner of her eye, but didn't brush it aside. "I miss you," she admitted. Her heart broke as she said it. I don't want to miss you.

I don't even want to love you.

If he was doing what she thought he was doing, he was probably sitting on his bed, with his head against the wall, eyes closed, and looking pretty defeated. He probably hadn't cut his hair in forever, so it was probably over his eyes, and he sounded like his voice was a bit tight, so he probably had an ice pack on his right knee, which he'd hurt in high school and sometimes came back to ache after a bad game.

Right now she wanted the same for her foot; it was killing her.

He sighed, replying in a quiet breath. "I miss you too."

You said some pretty dumb things to me, she thought, wiping at her eyes. She sniffed a few times, her face feeling swollen from the tears. "You were so stupid."

"I am stupid," he agreed. He laughed a little, whispering. "I love you Sophie, I don't want you to get your hopes up on something and ruin…you know, break up with me or something or try to ignore what we have because of this…this thing out there."

I shouldn't feel this way about someone right now.

She had to end this call. She hiccupped. "I got asked to choreograph a Broadway musical."

"You should star in a musical."

Sophie rolled her eyes; yeah right. She'd taken singing lessons at Julliard, some people told her she should have transferred programs to NYU's musical theater program, but she was a dancer. Classical ballet. Although she was really good in hip-hop and tap. Which was a bit weird. "I don't think so."

"Come on, I've heard you in the shower, you've got a set of pipes."

"Yeah right, I don't think so," she repeated. She got up off the bed, walking towards the window again, seeing that Tim was still on the porch with his beer; no children in sight. "Noah I have to go. I need to talk to Tim about…all this."

"Good luck. I love you."

Sophie hesitated; she was never very good at saying those words. They always made her feel like she was on display or something. She swallowed hard, whispering. "Yeah…me too."

And hung up before Noah could say something about it.

She left her phone on the bed, slipping her feet into a pair of tennis shoes, wincing again at the shot of pain that made its way up her foot to her calf. Damnit, she thought, limping out of the apartment and down the steps into the barn and out towards Tim.

"Can I join you?" she asked, taking a seat beside him without asking, reaching between them for the six-pack and cracked the cap, taking a pull. She knew it always put him off when she drank around him; hence why she was doing it now.

Sophie wanted him off his game; she wanted him to tell her about her father and what in the hell he was hiding from her. As well as Lyla, because they certainly knew more about what was going on in this damn town than she did.

She propped her foot up on the small wicker basket overturned in front of them, knocking his foot off of it. Leaning next to him, she propped her head up on her hand, glaring at him, waiting.

Tim sipped his beer, slouching backwards and closing his eyes. "What?" he mumbled.

"You want to tell me why your father is back? Don't ask how I know, Lyla probably already told you."

"I don't know."

She rested her head on his shoulder, whispering, her eyes closing. "Why was a picture of my dad out on the desk?"

Crickets.

Please answer, she thought, opening one eye. He was looking at her again. She shook her head slightly, her breathing shallow. "Is it bad, you think?"

Tim lifting his shoulder, still not saying a word. He sipped his beer again, setting it down on the ground, turning his face towards hers, his face serious. He wasn't smiling, nor did he look like he was going to anytime soon. Just tell me. Tell me so I don't have to think the worst. "I think he's back, I don't know why, but…I'm going to find out, okay? I promise, I won't let him hurt you."

And what about your dad? Who is going to promise that he won't hurt you, Sophie wondered. Lyla could only do so much; her first instinct was the kids. She bit her bottom lip, hesitating, but deciding it was probably best to just ask. "Your dad…he wasn't…a nice man, was he?"

Tim shrugged again, glancing down at his hands, folding on his thigh. "He wasn't…horrible," he whispered, looking out at nothing in the distance; maybe the sunset, Sophie wasn't sure. "He just…nothing was good enough and he…he liked to manipulate you. He wasn't a good dad, he just…we were better off without him in the long run he…he was emotionally abusive." He lifted his eyes back to hers, whispering. "Kind of like your dad."

Yeah, so I've been told. What little I know of my father.

Biological father.

The only father Sophie had ever known was actually her brother. Brothers. Couldn't forget Billy. She frowned, her brow flickering. "Does Billy know?"

"Not yet. Dad wouldn't…kind of like Mom I guess…Billy was older and already out of the house when he left. I was the one affected…most," Tim said. He took a deep breath, slowly releasing it and touching his hand lightly to her knee. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. You don't need to deal with it."

Stop trying to protect me.

"I'm twenty-two, I can handle it," she whispered. I live in another country for crying out loud. I was an 18-year old running around New York City without parental supervision. I'm fine; I can take care of myself.

"You shouldn't have to handle it, but…if Jack reaches out…"

"I'll handle it," Sophie replied, touching his hand, reaching her fingers to squeeze it tight, smiling at his surprised look. She lifted her eyebrow, whispering. "I'm a big girl Tim. I'm not five anymore, I don't need you to constantly be watching out for me."

He narrowed his eyes, his smile flickering a little. "I don't like that," he said, truthfully.

"Well you don't have to like it. Doesn't mean I can't handle it, I…I'll let you know, okay?" Sophie smiled quickly. I'll let you know, if I find out, I promise. She tucked her hair behind her ear, resting her head back down on his chest, like she was five again. She curled her knees up against her, closing her eyes and just sitting.

His arm fell over her shoulders and he touched his forehead to her hair. "London isn't what you thought it would be, huh?" he mumbled.

No, she thought, shaking her head slightly. "No it's not," she answered. She didn't have illusions about her career choice. It was cutthroat and with her foot…she knew the wolves would start circling soon.

Tears leaked down her cheeks. She buried her face into his chest and began to cry.

Tim didn't ask why; he never did.

Thank you, she thought silently.

And he just held her.


	10. Tim Wonders, Part 1

**A/N:**This was way too long so I split it in two; the second part will go up tomorrow, probably the evening. Enjoy!

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**Chapter 10: Tim's Agreement Part 1**

"Tim."

That didn't sound good.

Tim looked up from Max, who was happily sucking away at his evening bottle, seeing Lyla standing in the doorway; she'd been pretty quiet most of the night, if not downright invisible.

He removed the bottle from Max's mouth; he swore the kid growled at him. "What's up?" he asked, standing and throwing a rag on his shoulder, patting his son's back until Max burped and then giggled. Kid was weird, he thought, making a face at him and walking him over to the crib, laying him down in it.

They'd been having so many serious talks in this room lately; Tim figured they should just head off to their room. Sophie was with Annie in the living room, watching a movie. She wanted to block out all forms and thoughts of her father as though watching Beauty and the Beast nonstop would help with that.

Maybe it did.

He took the monitor from its stand on the nightstand, leaving Max, who was transfixed by the mobile rotating above his head. Not saying a word, he led Lyla into their bedroom, closing one of the double doors, flicking the lock to ensure they had uninterrupted privacy.

The monitor went to the dresser, along with his phone, keys, and other crap from his pockets. He slipped off his wedding ring, twisting it around his fingers for a second, setting it down on the dresser; he couldn't sleep with it for some reason.

Lyla sank down onto the bed, sitting on her hands. She'd changed into her pajamas a while ago, a pair of baggy pajama pants and one of his t-shirts. Her hair was piled on top of her head, falling down in loose strands around her face. "What's up?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder as he yanked out one of the dresser drawers. He didn't wait for her to answer. "I talked to Sophie."

"Yeah. Saw you guys out there. She okay?"

"She'll be fine." There was something else going on with her. Mysterious phone calls…the wincing whenever she had to put a lot of weight on her foot. He'd caught her limping a couple of times. It seemed to be getting worse, whatever it was she'd done to herself.

He shucked off his jeans and t-shirt, changing into a pair of boxer shorts and a clean t-shirt, flopping backwards onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. Lyla moved closer beside him, sitting against the headboard. She pulled a pillow over her lap, holding it against her knees.

Now what?

"What happened earlier?" he whispered. One moment she was…fine and then she didn't come back inside for about twenty minutes. Now she was silent, hiding something. He lifted his eyes up. "What went on outside?"

Lyla folded her hands together, saying nothing. Come on Garrity. She released a long breath. "Your…Tim don't get mad at me."

Why would I get mad at you?

I just want to find out what's going on with my family. That's all. That's all I want, I don't want to get mad. I don't want to overthink. I am so tired of overthinking things. Of having to deal with this crap, but I'll keep doing it. Just to get it over with, I'll keep doing it.

He returned his gaze to the ceiling. A sinking feeling began to take his stomach with it. Dad. You saw my dad again, he concluded, sensing her nervousness. Only thing lately she'd be nervous about telling him. "What did he want?" he whispered.

"I…he wanted…" Lyla slouched down on the bed beside him, looking down at his face, whispering. She rested her hand on his forearm, her fingers squeezing lightly, comforting. "He wanted to let me know that he…he didn't want you to think badly of him coming back that he…he didn't want to bring problems."

Then he shouldn't have come back.

He listened to her. Lyla's soft, quiet voice, while it always seemed to calm him down, no matter what…always seemed to make him feel better or take things more seriously…listened to her say how he didn't realize it until he saw his reaction, outside the bar, yelling at him to stay away. That Walt wanted to see him again, wanted to see Billy, and was sorry.

That he'd done something stupid; he'd brought Jack back to Dillon.

"I don't think he realized until now that Jack was just…whatever reason Jack has for being back in Dillon, he didn't realize it was going to be bad I guess."

God, my father is an idiot, Tim thought, closing his eyes. A strange guy comes to you and wants you to get him into Dillon. What'd he do? Offer you half of whatever money he's going to try to pawn off of us?

He shook his head slightly on the pillow, breathing, his eyes remaining shut. "He want to see the kids?"

"I don't think he…I think he wouldn't mind, but…I don't think he wants to see them, no, that's not the real reason."

Okay. That made him feel a little better. Lyla moved closer to him, her hand going ot his chest, her lips brushing over his jaw. "Tim, he…he knows he's a terrible father and I don't think he…I think he's probably still the same guy, I don't…don't believe this is like what happened with your mother."

No, no Tim didn't think it was either. "But," she continued. "He is older, he's sorry for what happened to your mother. He's the one who put the rose at the grave. He wants to say he's sorry, he wants you to hear him out, but…but he's not going to be…it's not like it was with Anne. He's still annoyed that you never found him again, I got that from some of the stuff eh said."

"What?" he snapped.

"I think he wanted you to come see him again, but…he knows he's not going down in the father hall of fame."

No, definitely not. Tim opened his eyes. He didn't think he was the best father in the world; he had no illusions. He was terrified most of the time when it came to his children. Billy told him he'd be fine, that it would be different. Things that once seemed important didn't matter anymore. Things that didn't seem important suddenly mattered.

It was no longer about what to do on Friday night or parties or chasing girls or even just hanging around on a lazy Sunday, fixing the truck and watching football. Suddenly you became about someone else. Someone who you had to mold and change and help be a good person as best as you could.

And Tim had no illusions that he wasn't the greatest. He got frustrated with Annie sometimes. Too quickly, he thought, but Lyla told him he was fine. He sometimes thought that he was going to ruin them both, but…but then he thought of Sophie. That was a work-in-progress.

Maybe it was good she lived with someone else for five years of her life after Anne died. He had time to prepare. To learn what it meant to raise someone else.

I'm not my father and I have no intention of ever becoming him.

I will not humiliate my kids. I will not blame them for my own failures and I certainly will not ever make them feel like crap because I can't bear to have them better than me, because my ego is more important, Tim recited. All the things that he'd learned later on in his life, mostly through the help of Garrity and Dr. Tyra who decided to shrink him for fun when she came back for Christmas breaks.

"Where is he?" he whispered.

"Some motel off the highway, couple exits down. He…he found out you were here through some friends of his that still live here."

Figured. Information in this town was like the plague. It spread to anyone who was close enough.

"I have the name, it's in my purse," Lyla whispered, moving even closer.

Any closer Garrity and you're going to be growing on me, he thought, smiling a little, focusing his attention on the two-toned ceiling. Almost 20 years later and he still hadn't bothered to fix it. The rest of the room had been repainted, but…he couldn't bring himself to paint over it.

"You have to fix that ceiling," Lyla murmured.

"It's my ceiling, I'll do what I want with it."

"It's my ceiling too."

"You have flowers on the wall."

"I do have flowers on the wall," she said, opening her eyes and focusing on him again. She propped her head up on her hand, watching him, her finger dragging along his collarbone.

He took her hand, lifting her fingers to his lips and kissing lightly, folding them in his. He needed to find out what Jack was doing. Next step. Talk to his father.

I don't want to see him again.

"You need to talk to him."

Yeah, I know. Just thought that. Tim shook his head, whispering. "I just want to keep Sophie from this."

"Sophie's a big girl."

Yeah, she told me as much. He frowned slightly, changing subjects. "You notice anything…off with her? Like she's hiding something?"

"She's twenty-two Tim. Of course she's hiding at least one thing from us."

Not like that. Something bigger. He wondered who she was talking to all mysteriously on the phone. Or what happened to her foot and how serious it might be for her ballet career. She didn't explain why she had four weeks off. Four weeks off right after she'd gotten the job with the Royal Ballet Company? After she'd already done two different ballets as prima ballerina?

It seemed…a lot of time.

He folded his hands over his stomach, his ankles crossed at the foot of the bed. Dad was back.

Dad.

Hadn't thought about him like that in…well he hadn't thought about him. Probably not since Anne showed up. Maybe once or twice since, like when he began to a dad. More in terms of 'I don't want to be anything like him. Ever.'

What do you want, Walt? Money? They had money. They could get him money. Lyla said no though. Said that didn't seem to be it. It was linked to Jack McConnell. What the hell are you doing with Jack McConnell?

The last time he saw Jack McConnell he'd been denied custody. The judge had instituted the restraining order. He'd gotten a phone call, from the guy's lawyer, when Sophie turned 17, requesting a waiver of the restraining order. He'd gone to Sophie; it was her decision.

Sophie didn't want to see him. "He's not my dad," she'd mumbled, when he'd asked if she was positive, she didn't want to see him. Would she regret it? Tim hoped not. So far it seemed not.

Jack probably wanted money.

Only one way to find out. He'd have to talk to Walt. God, he'd have to go talk to his dad. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. I don't want to do this, he screamed in his head. I don't want to talk to him again. "You have to," Lyla whispered, from her perch beside him.

How come you can read my mind?

Drives me crazy. He ignored her, whispering. "He's out by the highway." More of a statement than a question. He'd find him. Tim had more than a few friends in this town, now that he'd somehow become one of its more notorious residents.

"Yes. He's out by the highway." Tim heard her breath hitch in her throat, hesitate, and then whisper. "Tim this is bigger than you guys. This involves Sophie too."

Yeah. I know.

Lyla brushed her lips over his, whispering. "We're together in this, okay? Don't forget it. I haven't left you in two decades."

Yes you did, I know you don't think you did, but you did. Just that one time. It's okay, because you did your thing and I did mind.

Even if all those women he'd seen in the interim were just placeholders for the real deal. They all had been, even if he didn't know it.

He pushed his nose into her shoulder, inhaling her deeply. She smelled like lavender. And baby powder. Like, a lot of powder. "Did you dump powder over yourself again?" he mumbled, smiling when she just smacked him in response. He wrapped his arm around her, rolling over her. "Not complaining, just wondering."

"Hmmm…" she mumbled, kissing him lightly, her fingers linking together on the back of his neck, smiling against his mouth. She lifted her toes up to run over his foot. She pulled away slightly, looking up at him.

Tim could look at her forever. He smiled a little. She seemed so serious; kind of sad, even. "What?" he whispered.

"Nothing." Lyla brushed her knuckles over his cheek, smoothing her fingers down to touch his bottom lip, her eyes following. She smiled again, whispering. "We're together."

They were. Had been for the last seven years. "Don't worry about Sophie," she said, her fingers moving down to squeeze his, lifting above her head on the pillow. She gave him another reassuring smile, along with her knowing 'Lyla' look. The look that said everything was going to be okay, because Lyla Garrity said it was going to be okay.

And God help the person who stood in her way.

It was a quality she'd always had, but this time…this Lyla was darker; she did things that she never once would have done if it ensured she got her way and protected her family. Tim found it an insane turn-on. It was the businesswoman in her. What did Tyra say once? She was good at 'acquisitions.' Pretty damn good.

Why shouldn't I worry about Sophie, he thought briefly, seeing her eyes darken a little. "I'll find out what's going on with her," she promised, kissing him one more time before she slid off of him and rolled off the bed, bouncing out of the bedroom.

Tim had no doubt.

He hit his head back on the bed, waiting for her to return after making the rounds with the kids

Billy.

Crap, he had to talk to Billy. He should do it now…Coach told him to come over, but…Billy had cancelled, said that Ricky wouldn't leave the damn house and go party like a normal kid home from college and he didn't feel like leaving either, just to spite his son.

That was because Ricky was sleeping off the party he'd been to the night before, but Tim kept his nephews' secrets. He always had. He got up from the bed, changing into a pair of cargo shorts and shoving his feet into flip-flops. He tugged on a zip-up hoodie and a baseball hat, collecting his car keys and leaving the room, running into Lyla on her way back up the steps. "I'm going to Billy's. I'll be back," he told her.

"Be careful."

I love how that's how you say goodbye, he thought, dropping a kiss to her lips, walking by her and out the front door.


	11. Tim Wonders, Part 2

**Chapter 11: Tim Wonders, Part 2**

Tim climbed up into his old black truck, which Sophie had been driving in the week she was there. He reached over to fix the rearview mirror, catching a glance of her cell phone wedged between the seat and the floor when he tilted it too far.

Don't do it Tim.

He ran his tongue over his teeth, leaning over and pulling it out, holding it in his hands. The ultimate trust, he thought, biting down on his lip, glancing at the house. When she was a kid he didn't snoop. Not even as a teenager, although once, one time, he did open up her nightstand and when he saw condoms, he ran out and hadn't gone snooping again.

He touched his thumb to the screen, the lock keypad immediately coming up. Four numbers. Closing his eyes, he punched in Annie's birthday. The home screen came up, with a photo of her, Annie, and Max after Max was born.

Tim hit the phone icon in the corner, a list of recent calls appearing. Almost every single one of them said 'Boyfriend.' Who was Boyfriend? He moved over to the message icon, wanting to look.

As he debated looking, the phone rang in his hands. "Ah!" he yelped, dropping it onto the seat, gripping the steering wheel. He immediately looked around; no one saw; good.

It was the Monday Night Football theme.

Nice, Sophie, cool. Tim let it ring, seeing 'Boyfriend' once again on the screen. He should answer it. Freak the guy out, demand to know…

No, that's not you. You trust her. She's your sister, not your daughter, save it for when Annie is sixteen. Because Sophie is twenty-two. Adult.

Good Lord, what was going on with him?

He backed out of the drive, heading into town, coming to a stop about twenty minutes later in front of the old house. Mindy had made Billy repaint the cemented shut garage door, which was his old room, basically. Now it was the twins' room, when they came home to visit.

Going up to the front door, he knocked a few times. It swung open, Becky on the other side. "Hey Tim!" she exclaimed, wrapping her arms tight around his neck. "It's been forever!"

"It's been four hours!"

"And that's forever, come inside."

"I like how you don't even live here, where is Luke?"

"With the kids at his parents' house, you know how his mother still hates me."

Tim rolled his eyes; more like Becky hated her. He knew a thing or two about getting on with your in-laws only as far as you could stand it. Lyla's mother and him still hadn't been able to fully…embrace each other. He stepped by her into the house. "Where's Billy?"

Mindy looked up from the kitchen, where she was folding plastic wrap over a bowl. "Outside with Ricky, what's up? Where are the kids?"

Sleeping, hopefully, even though it wasn't too late. Tim walked by her and through the addition he'd added on to the back of the house, stepping through the sliding glass door onto the small patio in front of the pool, where Billy was fighting with Ricky over what a perfect play actually entailed.

"A football, a good player, and a winning touchdown," he answered when Ricky demanded to know what a good play actually was. He pointed to the house. "Go help your mom clean up."

"But Aunt Becky's here."

"Just do it," Tim said, pushing him out of the patio chair. He glanced at Billy, lifting his eyebrow. "Gotta' talk to your dad, it's important. And private."

Billy cleared his throat, nodding towards the house. "Get inside college boy."

Ricky grumbled about being in college but somehow having to still help his parents when they should be helping him, closing the glass door behind him to keep the A/C inside. Billy got up from the chair, offering him a beer. Tim declined. He really didn't need a drink right now. He tossed his keys from one hand to the other, nodding towards the back of the yard. "Away from the house, this is important," he whispered.

How do I tell Billy this? With Anne he'd just walked in. Something told him that Billy wouldn't like having to do that again, especially with Walt. He walked off the concrete patio around the pool, stepping into the small patch of grass. There was a football setup there. He leaned down, picking up a ball, stepping off and tossing it at a tire hanging from a post. It bounced off to the ground.

Billy picked up the ball, throwing it back. "Good arm for a 40-year old, but you could still do better."

"My shoulder hurts," he said idly, feeling it start to tingle a little. He threw the ball again. Missed. Better get this over with. "So…you know our dad, right?"

"Guy that was married to our mom? Called himself our father? Dead? Yeah. What about him?" Billy chucked the ball back. "Ease up, you're throwing too hard."

I'm not going to be playing Friday night or anything Billy. It's just to keep me from going insane. Tim took the ball again, tossing it back and forth. He sighed. "So…apparently…he's driving the truck that I saw Sophie's dad in. He's alive. Buddy saw him and…" He threw the ball at Billy, dropping his voice, looking down at his feet. "I saw him too."

Almost hit him. Would have hit him, if I could. He walked a little closer to Billy, until he was almost shoulder-to-shoulder with him, facing the opposite direction. A gust of warm breeze blew over the backyard, ruffling his hair. He pushed up his baseball hat, whispering. "Billy he's back he…he's not dead, he's alive and he…he's somehow involved with Sophie's dad, driving the same truck."

There. I said it. Now what?

Billy took the football from him, holding it lightly in his hands. Billy was like a million years older than him. Tim hadn't realized it, until Max was born. He always felt like he was the older one. Having to clean up after Billy's ridiculous schemes and messes. I needed a father figure and I got Billy. Probably only a handful of times his brother had acted like a true father to him, but…what Tim couldn't believe was that those few times, Billy was more of a father to him than their own dad. Wanting him to get to college, sober up…

But Billy had always been older than him. He didn't need Anne, even after she came back, although he openly admitted he missed her sometimes. He certainly didn't want their father back, when he did come back that one time.

Tim glanced at his brother, who was mulling it over. This wouldn't affect him as much. Dad was what? Twenty when Billy was born? Ran off after Billy was well out of school. Just like Anne, it didn't seem to affect him. "So you…" he mumbled, shaking his head slightly, whispering. "You talked to him?"

"Yeah," Tim answered. He shrugged, smiling slightly. "Wanted to hit him. Almost started chasing his truck, but…I don't know why he's here, I'm going to go talk to him tomorrow."

"I have practice, so…"

"Just wanted you to know."

Billy looked up again, whispering. "What are you going to do? This isn't like with Mom."

"No," he agreed. He sighed, shrugging. "I gotta' protect Sophie. My kids…I don't know why he seems to be in with Jack McConnell, but…I gotta' know Billy and then he's gone, okay?"

"You don't owe me anything Tim, you're a grown man. You can let Dad back in your life if you want."

Tim had seen how sad Walt seemed to get at his response. At the sight of Max. Maybe he'd changed, but…he also brought Jack McConnell back, for reasons unknown.

Billy pointed at him, poking his finger into his chest. "You know this probably has something to do with your Sugar Momma."

He rolled his eyes. "Lyla's not my sugar momma."

"She's just richer than anyone in this damn town. Even those McCoys, back when you were in school."

The money's separate; I just get 10% of every paycheck, like we planned, only it was Lyla paying him to take care of everything, not Jason. I made sure of it, Tim thought, but said nothing. He shrugged again, whispering. "Dad's alive Billy, you don't wanna' ask why?"

"Third hand information Tim. I guess I just hoped." Billy turned to face him completely, pushing the football into his chest, his voice low and serious, eyes focused on his. "This is your life, those are your kids, but Sophie is our sister. If there's something going on with her father, let me know. If there's something with our father? I don't care. My kids are grown and they're gone and I don't want him near them or Mindy or even Becky and Luke and their brood. Got it Timmy?"

"Got it."

"I'm going back inside, first game of the season is in three weeks. You'd think it was the damn Super Bowl."

Tim rolled his eyes, calling after his brother. "Welcome to Dillon, I don't know if you've been here before, but we're kind of obsessed with football!"

"Shut up Tim!"

He chuckled, standing back, glancing at the tire swing. He leaned back, holding the ball loosely in his fingers, draping them over the laces and threw.

It sailed through, not even touching the sides of the tire.

Tim smiled.

Still had it.


	12. Advice From Lyla

**Chapter 12: Advice From Lyla  
**

"Have fun sweetie!" Lyla called, waving as Annie drove off in Mindy's minivan, waving out the window and bouncing a little in place at the idea of her three-month old off with Mindy for the day. She couldn't really stand to be away from Max for longer than a couple hours, but…

Well Mindy was the one who was going through empty-nest syndrome and wanted to take care of them for the day. Who was Lyla to question when someone wanted to take her five-year old and her newborn for a few hours? Thereby allowing her to shower and wash her hair and paint her nails and pass out for longer than two hours without a baby crying and waking her up.

Even if, she reminded herself, twisting at her wedding band, smiling a little, you have the best husband in the whole wide world that gets up at two in the morning and takes care of the baby? Nevermind that when you wake up you might find that Max's diaper might be backwards or perhaps he used the wrong formula or even if you find said best husband asleep on the floor, because he couldn't make it back to the bed.

She leaned down and picked up Chewbacca, who was yipping at a butterfly. He was getting big; she also had to thank said best husband in the world for taking a five-year old who was wrapped around his finger to the animal shelter 'just to look.'

Lyla stopped at the pet store on her way home from work that day because she knew when she got back there would be a puppy. And sure enough there was.

Tim really had no control when it came to Annie.

"Let's go see Sophie," she said, scratching his fuzzy head. It would prevent her from worrying about Tim. This morning he'd said he was on his way to work, but Lyla also knew he was going to stop by the motel and confront Walt.

God Tim, please, please, please let me know what happens. Don't shut me out.

He'd changed, but this was still Tim Riggins and he didn't change very fast. Lyla still had to hear him bitch about how he had to study again and his study guide was as big as his hand and he had to wake up so early just to take the test to renew his HVAC certification. Why he still had that, Lyla didn't know, because he hadn't worked on heating or cooling systems in the last ten years.

I have to tell him to get his shoulder looked at again, she reminded herself, walking over to the calendar to check when he had to go back in. He'd banged up the one that kept getting dislocated in high school a few years ago, when he was putting up skylights in Becky's house and one of her kids ran by, knocking into the ladder and sending him crashing down about ten feet.

Lyla moved a post-it from the side to the bottom, where all the miscellaneous notes were kept. She stared at the calendar, seeing reminders for doctor visits for her and Max and Annie, along with playdates for Annie, and jobs she knew Tim was working in other cities that he forgot to tell her about. Dates when bills were due, when she had meetings…

"Who would have thought?" she mumbled to herself, her hands going to her hips. Tim Riggins and Lyla Garrity, those parents who have color-coded post-its. Well, she did, because she was organized. Tim just woke up in the morning and did what he wanted. Without Becky and Luke practically running his business for him he would probably still be working on construction crews, rather than doing it himself.

She pushed away from the fridge, Chewbacca following her outside; she should go and get a shower, but she promised Tim last night, in so many words, she'd find out what was going on with Sophie.

It was pretty apparent though, now that Tim had mentioned it, that Sophie was being…more secretive. She'd always been a little on the hiding side; Tyra told them that it was common for children who had lost their parents and who had been forced to move around. It was their way of keeping something for themselves.

Tyra also told them that Sophie would toe the line to see how far she had to go before they gave up on her; if you never gave up on her, she'd stop. Which she had, each and every time she decided to act out.

Lyla walked across the backyard area to the barn, stepping inside and pausing at the hard rock blaring from the speakers Tim had installed for her barre and dance floor. She stopped at the door, closing it quietly to keep the A/C inside.

Sophie was moving fast across the floor, doing some complicated steps, but Lyla could see her lips moving. Like she was singing to lyrics or something. Her dark hair was piled on her head, tendrils stuck to the back of her neck. Her foot was wrapped up tight in an Ace bandage, but otherwise her feet were bare.

I love that you found something that is all yours, she thought, smiling at Sophie. Not everyone got into Julliard. Not everyone graduated with honors and not everyone could tryout for both ABT and the Royal Ballet and get in. Sophie was amazing and talented and dedicated.

So why the break?

Sophie did a complicated step and then redid it, spinning around and stopping, her arms lifting up. Almost like a cheer, Lyla thought, frowning. She stepped forward, to let her know that she was actually there watching, when Sophie snapped her fingers, speaking out loud over the sound of the music.

"One, two, three four…" she counted, doing the steps, singing under her breath. "I'm gonna' get out of this town, I'm gonna' fly away, you can't try to stop me, nothing's gonna' stand in my way…

Sophie stopped mid-move, like she was jumping up to a chair, which stood at the edge of the floor. She moved backwards, cursing. "Shit." She stared at the chair and then dragged another one over, jumping up on both and repeating the lyrics of the song, mumbling to herself after she finished them and then repeated the moves.

Lyla realized what she was doing, a second later, after Sophie sang the same bit of song again, but did something different, standing still a little more, like she was the actual singer, rather than background dancers. She was choreographing something. Creating her dance to some lyrics. "Hey there," she called, interrupting; since it seemed Sophie was so engrossed she couldn't hear anything but herself.

Sophie spun on her heel, crying out and falling backwards, grabbing hold of the chair. "Ow!" she yelped, sinking back into the chair, lifting her foot, which was wrapped in the bandage. "Hey Lyla, I…I didn't see you there," she said quickly, covering her surprise.

"Honey are you okay?" she asked, rushing to kneel beside her, reaching for her foot, which Sophie immediately crossed over her knee. Lyla frowned. "Sophie are you hurt?"

"I'm fine."

"Honey you should get that looked at if it's…"

"I said I'm fine!" Sophie snapped, getting up quickly and dragging the chair with her. She stopped at the edge of the floor, holding the folded chair against her knee. She sighed, her shoulders slumping, putting it against the wall and whispering. "Sorry, I didn't mean…I'm sorry."

Clearly. She wondered if that was why Sophie had so much time off…did she hurt herself? Medical leave…or something, she wondered, nibbling at her bottom lip.

"Is there anything you want to talk about?" Lyla asked. I'm pretty good at listening. Especially with the Riggins family. And I know you're keeping something deep down. She nibbled on her bottom lip, before she pulled it into a soft smile, shrugging, keeping her voice quiet. "I'm really good at helping. With anything."

Sophie gave her a look as if to say 'yeah I know.' Lyla chuckled, ducking her head a little. She rolled her eyes, whispering. "I know, there's that other side of me, but the shark doesn't come out with the family."

"I saw Tim when he washed red clothes with white ones and ruined your favorite shirt. The shark does comes out with family," Sophie said, trying to keep it light, but her smile didn't meet her eyes. Riggins eyes, Lyla thought, seeing how deep they went. There really was something on her mind.

All I want to do is…help, she thought, covering for the word she really wanted to use. Make it better. She tried never to say that. Things sometimes couldn't…be better. You could only help to try and make it seem better.

She glanced down at Sophie's wrapped foot, which she'd lifted slightly off the ground. "Did you hurt yourself?"

Sophie followed her gaze, lifting her shoulder and glancing away, whispering. "It's no big deal."

"Seems like it really hurts."

"It's…I strained the plantar ligament and…had a stress fracture, but…" she licked her lips, whispering, her eyebrows lifting up. "I couldn't take six weeks off Lyla. I was in the middle of Firebird, I can't just stop being prima ballerina."

So you danced on a stress fracture and probably hurt it even more. What is it with you Rigginses? You can be so damn stubborn, Lyla thought, pinching at her forehead. She dropped her hand down to her stomach, resting it there for a moment before letting it fall to her side. "Did they give you time off?"

"It's vacation time, but…" Sophie rolled her eyes, mumbling. "Yes."

Sophie, Sophie, Sophie.

Sophie moved by her, going to turn off the music and collect her things. She moved everything around angrily, dropping and slamming, her words clipped. "I'm a professional ballet dancer Lyla. It's pretty stressful, sometimes you dance when you're hurt so someone else doesn't come in and steal your part."

"Yeah, you seem like you've lost more weight." Not that there was much left to lose.

"Well you should see some of the girls. They didn't even go to dance schools, they just danced until they were old enough to work legally." Sophie shoved things into her dance bag, whispering. "Do you know how hard it is for an American to go overseas and dance? We're big, we're clumsy, and we focus more on the art of ballet and making it different and cultural than we do on the technique that makes ballet so much different from other dance…." She laughed, her voice almost dreamy. "And I'm good enough. I'm good enough for England and I'm good enough for the Bolshoi."

The Bolshoi. Damnit. The freaking Bolshoi Ballet. God, if she could go her life without hearing Sophie ever again go on and on about the Russian ballet…she'd been talking about it since she was in middle school and then when she got that study internship thing in high school…Lyla had been there, to see Sophie perform during her few weeks she was allowed to attend the class, with other young students from around the world.

It was gorgeous. She could see why Sophie would want it; it was the pinnacle of her chosen profession. The unattainable. No female American dancer had ever danced for the Bolshoi, only men.

And Sophie was more than accustomed to proving people wrong. This was just another one of those things.

She decided to change the subject, walking over to the table, where Sophie remained standing. "It seemed like you were choreographing something there…what was that song?"

The song you were really good at singing; maybe you should go into Broadway.

Her…daughter, she supposed Sophie was, shrugged, whispering and tugging at the zipper on her dance bag. "It's a rough draft of a song called 'I'm Gonna.'"

"It sounds nice."

"It's Tyra's song," she breathed, nudging a tablet computer sitting on the table towards her. Lyla glanced down at it, seeing handwritten notes of a song on the screen. She scanned the words. Wow. It really was Tyra's song. If Tyra had a theme.

_I'm gonna' get out of this place, I'm gonna' have my dreams, and you can try to stop me, but I'm gonna just fly over you, you'll see_.

It was very…musical-like. She glanced at Sophie. "You're choreographing a musical?" Mrs. Taylor told them a few weeks ago that Julie had sold the rights, a few months before. They made her an offer she couldn't refuse.

She flicked her finger over it, moving through a few more pages, with rough draft notes of songs. One called 'Friday's The Night' and another she frowned at, murmuring the lyrics. "There's only one way to this boy's heart, get me a six-pack, that's the start, no regrets, that's what I say, don't you want to come out and play?" she spoke, rolling her eyes when she saw the title was just called "No Regrets" and then she stopped on one of the later pages, seeing the two names from Julie's novel who would be singing the song, in a duet. Charity and Tom.

Oh great.

"This is my song?" she whispered, pointing at it, glancing at Sophie, who nodded. Interesting. She swallowed hard, reading through it, speaking quietly as the words sunk into her head. "And you're going to be a part of this?"

"I don't know…I…they asked me, but…I'm a ballerina, Lyla," Sophie whispered, rolling her eyes. "Not a Broadway choreographer."

You can do anything you set your mind to.

_You can't ask me to stay, you can try, try, and try, but I have to go, I have to leave, it's not enough to be your life. _

_This is my town, I want you here beside me, there's only one way to my heart, so please don't go, don't make me beg, all I want is you to stay_

She was about to ask Sophie about whether she'd given them a definitive answer, when the door to the side of the barn opened. There had been too many unexpected visitors lately, so Lyla should have been surprised to see who was standing there, but part of her wasn't.

What was one more visitor?

"Hey Aunt Lyla," Noah Street drawled, looking more and more like his father everyday. He smiled wide, holding his arms out. "Was in the neighborhood, thought I'd drop by." He tossed a lock of his burnt oak-colored hair from his eyes, which were identical to his mother's, a bright shiny blue. "Figured I'd see Sophie, heard she was in town."

He glanced over her shoulder at Sophie, his smile pulling a little wider. "What's up Rig?"

That's right, Lyla remembered, looking over at Sophie, who didn't look happy to see Noah. They were friends from New York. Sophie stayed with Jason during her last two years at Julliard and for some of the long weekends when she couldn't get back to Dillon.

"Where are my manners?" she laughed, walking towards Noah and wrapping his big frame up in a hug, as much of one as she could muster, having to rise on her toes to hug the 6'3" running back. "How are you sweetie? You visiting your grandparents?"

He seemed bigger than she last remembered; weight lifting and working in the NFL was agreeing with him. Lyla knew Jason was more than proud of his son, who had taken the Street talents and gone off to play college ball and onward to the NFL. He was also his son's agent, which she knew he enjoyed, much to Noah's chagrin.

It had been awhile, she was pleased to see he thought to stop and see them. Tim would be happy. He liked Noah.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sophie glaring at Noah. Interesting. She thought they were friends. "Would you like something to drink Noah? Let's go back to the house. This barn is air-conditioned, but the house is much cooler…"

"Actually Aunt Lyla, I'd like to talk to Sophie, if that's okay, we'll join you up at the house in a minute," Noah said, his eyes not tearing away from Sophie's.

Even more interesting.

Lyla glanced between the both of them. The last time they'd been together around her was…well over a year ago. They were laughing, teasing…like brother and…

No.

Not like brother and sister.

Oh.

OH!

It dawned on her. Actually, more like it came up and smacked her in the face. Lyla stared at Sophie, who had…that look. The look Tim got when he just wanted to be alone with her. Or when he was annoyed at her. Which were usually both. She chuckled, stepping away from Sophie and patting Noah's shoulder. "I'll see you guys in a few minutes."

Or few hours.

She grabbed Chewbacca, who was gnawing on an electrical cord. "Come on you dummy," she mumbled, tucking him beneath her arm and leaving the barn, going up to the house.

Well she got a couple things answered to hopefully satiate Tim's curiosity about his little sister. She didn't think he was going to like either of the answers. Lyla smiled, walking up into the house and dropping Chewbacca in his little pen area, where he promptly passed out asleep.

She went upstairs, taking a long, hot shower and turned the music up loud in her bedroom, dancing around and grabbing a bottle of hot-pink nail polish, painting her toenails while bobbing her head. I don't even know what this song is, could be in another language for all I know, but I don't have babies screaming because it's too loud, whoo!

After she changed into more presentable attire than her earlier workout clothes, which she wore a lot of now because she hadn't lost all the baby weight she wanted, Lyla jogged down the staircase, grabbing her phone to call Sophie.

There was no way she was going to just walk in there.

She was about to call when the front door's grandmother glass window pane rattled; someone was knocking on it. Who…Lyla took a deep breath, steeling herself. All these unwanted guests…there were plenty of people she didn't want to see on the other side of the door.

As she approached, Lyla made out the tall, thin frame on the other side. Great. She recognized who it was. Not like they needed more drama. "Is that you?" she demanded, her hands on her hips.

"Open this door Garrity!"

Damnit.

It was.

Lyla reached for the doorknob, swinging it open. Yes. Last person she wanted to see.

Tyra grinned wide, wiggling her fingers. "Hello Garrity! Mind if I come in? Thank you!" She dragged a carry-on roller suitcase behind her as a cab drove away down the street. She turned around, smiling again. "I told you Todd has a conference in Dallas, figured I'd come in a week early and meet him there, I want to see my little niece and nephew, check on my mom, that sort of thing."

Oh God, Lyla thought, staring at Tyra for a moment. She blinked a couple of times. There was so much going on. She wiped at her eyes. Then again. Until suddenly her shoulders were shaking and she was leaning forward, crying.

"Guess my visit is well-timed," Tyra murmured, her arms immediately going out for her.

Lyla hiccupped, thinking of Jack McConnell and Walt Riggins reappearing. Along with Sophie, Noah, and everything else she was dealing with. A new baby and a little kid and running businesses…

"You have no idea," she managed to get out, before she was sobbing again.

And finding herself in Tyra Collette's arms, hugging tight.


	13. Sophie's Pain

**Chapter 13: Sophie's Pain**

"Lyla knows."

"No she doesn't, you're being paranoid."

Lyla knows, Sophie repeated to herself, lying on the floor of the apartment upstairs, her sheet wrapped around her, while Noah stretched out on his stomach on the torn up bed, peering down at her with a happy smile on his face. This was stupid. Absolutely stupid.

It had been over two hours; Lyla had to have known what they were doing. Or she could have come looking. She could have coming looking, walked upstairs, and opened the door thinking that her perfect little sister-in-law/stepdaughter was sitting quietly having tea with the beautiful Noah Street and catching up on old times.

Not doing what they were doing on her bed moments before.

She grabbed hold of the sheet, sitting up and staring at him. He smiled. His hair was sticking up in the back. His smile was too crooked. I hate him so much, he's an absolute mess, she thought.

Not really.

I love him.

"You can't be here," she blurted out. There was too much going on. Two little kids running around, Tim…Lyla…it was too much. I can't have you here. You make me…not think. I need to be able to think.

Sophie stood up, walking over to the closet and grabbing a shirt, collecting a pair of underwear, bra, and a t-shirt from her dresser. She pointed at him, stretched out on the bed, his head propped up on his hands, smiling like an idiot. "When I come out, you better be gone."

"Sure."

When she came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, he was still there; only he was tugging his boots on, wrapping the laces around his ankles before tying. It was something he always did. Once she asked him why he didn't just get shorter laces, he said it was just something his father showed him, when he was little and his laces kept coming undone. "So I've always had long shoelaces," he said.

It was probably a superstitious thing. Growing up around athletes, notably football players, and Sophie had borne witness to some insane superstitious behaviors before and after practices and games to ensure a better performance.

Not just for football players though, she thought idly, picking up her toe shoes and running her thumb over the engraving of her mom's initials on the heel of her shoe. It made her perform better, she was sure of it.

"I…I have to find out why my father is here, I can't do that with you…around," Sophie stammered, watching him tug on his shirt, his abs rippling. Crap. Her eyes fluttered shut. "You make me not think very well. I need to think."

"What you need is support. It's why I'm here."

"I need my brother's support, not yours," she snapped. What I need is for you to go away; you don't believe in my dreams, you ignore me when I say I want space, and you proposed when I told you full well we were too young and I didn't want it.

And now you're here.

Noah wrapped his arms around her shoulders, holding tighter when she tried to push him away. He rested his chin on her head, whispering. "I'm not leaving you, not at a time like this."

"A time like what?" she protested, still trying to wiggle away.

"Will you relax? Good God, it's like you're incapable of being comforted."

I don't need comfort. I've never needed comfort. Tim taught her to be strong. To not let things get you down and instead, knock them over on their ass. All those bullies going after her for wanting to do ballet instead of cheerleading and making fun of her because of her…different home life…stand up to them, he taught her. Knock them down on their asses instead.

It would drive them crazy if you did that, which was what she did. Drove them crazy.

She finally managed to slip from beneath him, hearing his annoyed sigh. Too bad. You shouldn't be here anyway; we broke up. Sophie reminded herself that, since she was very clearly a weak woman and succumbed to Noah Street's charms. Never again, she vowed, leaving the apartment, the keys to the old black truck in her hand.

This thing is going to outlive all of us, Sophie thought, opening up the door and climbing inside. She'd call Lyla later and let her know where she was going, which was…well she didn't know.

She sat in the driver's seat for a moment, staring out the windshield at the barn. Noah was slowly walking towards her, his hands in his pockets. He was tall. She liked that about him, because she was tall. He made her feel small, it was weird, she kind of liked it.

Blondish-brown hair, more like oak, swept over his forehead and down to his collar. He had to cut it before the season started, part of the rules, but for now he let it grow long. There was a scar on his cheek, from where his helmet had come off in college and he'd taken a cleat, during a nasty hit. He looked kind of like his father, but his eyes were bluer.

Sophie liked his eyes.

"Noah," she yelled, when he climbed in beside her. I am not doing this with you. "Get out of this truck."

"No."

"Get out!"

"You'll have to push me out."

That would be impossible, because he was insanely strong. She could kick him out; her lower body strength was unparalleled. Sophie closed her eyes, leaning on the window. It was sweltering in this car without the A/C going, which didn't work anyway so…

She opened the door, climbing out, only to stop in her tracks.

How come I didn't hear the car coming up the drive?

Maybe because you were fighting with your boyfriend. Not my boyfriend, the other side of her said. Yes, the devil replied. Sophie closed her eyes. Either way, it didn't matter, because she didn't hear the car.

And if she had, she'd have been more prepared.

Probably not really prepared.

Noah came up behind her, calling out. "Can we help you?" His hands went to her shoulders, squeezing lightly. Let go of me, you make me feel smothered, she wanted to scream, stepping out from under him again, taking a few steps towards the man who had just climbed from a dark sedan.

Jack McConnell stood in front of her, smiling, looking as horrible as she remembered from when she was ten. The last time I saw you. That was…I'm 22, so…twelve years, she calculated, her jaw setting.

I can't breathe.

Like, I really, really can't breathe.

He looked old. Very old. But someone who was trying not to seem old. Like the photo. Too much Botox around his eyes, so they looked frozen, but he had wrinkles around his lips, probably from smoking. He looked sickly. Watery eyes. Once upon a time ago he probably was handsome.

My mother clearly thought enough to marry him and get pregnant with me.

He smiled; his teeth were veneered. It was unnerving. Plastic surgeon zombie, Sophie thought, shifting on her foot. Her bad foot began to throb. Her nails dug into her palms.

I didn't ever want to see you again.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered.

"It's me, your dad," Jack said, like she didn't already know, stepping forward, holding his arms out and laughing. "Let me look at you…"

"No," Sophie blurted, stepping backwards, knocking into Noah. She didn't know why his was here, but she didn't…she needed to know but right now she didn't want…I don't know what I want.

It was like two sides battling inside of her. The curiosity for his appearance and the hatred and need for him to disappear under whatever rock he'd crawled out from beneath. She shook her head again, whispering. "You need to leave."

Before Lyla sees you.

Jack didn't move, still staring at her. He smiled again, whispering. "You look like your mother."

"Don't talk about Mom," Sophie demanded. I know what you said about her. She glared at him, stepping towards him, that anger bubbling up. Fight, Tim told her. Don't let them beat you down. "You don't deserve to be here when she's gone. Get away from me okay? I don't want to talk to you, I don't want to see you!"

He looked aghast at the notion of her wanting him to leave. "Sophie, I just want to see my daughter, it's…it's been your whole life and…" He reached for her again, his voice soft. "Please, I know I was wrong…"

"Do you want money?" she snapped. She laughed, rolling her eyes and placing her hands on her hips. "Because I'm a poor dancer, Jack." Not Dad. Never Dad. "I don't have any money, please leave."

Jack narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. What do I have to do? Hit you? Sophie pointed her finger at his car, screaming. "Go away! I don't want you here!"

"All I want is for you to forgive me," Jack whispered, seemingly annoyed. He frowned again, his Botoxed eyes still not moving. It freaked Sophie out. He scowled. "It's been over twelve years, I'm sorry."

No you're not. I don't care. Sophie felt terrible for thinking that, but…he wasn't her family. She had a family; she didn't need another one and she didn't need to give him forgiveness. "Go," she ordered.

Jack didn't move.

Please leave, don't make this harder than it is, if you really want my forgiveness, you'll just leave because I asked, not because I have to yell, she thought, her vision blurring. Am I crying? I don't want to cry.

Sophie Riggins didn't cry.

Noah stepped in front of her, rising to his full height over Jack, which put him almost a good six inches over him, whispering. "I believe she asked you to leave. I think it's best you do it. Do you have any contact information in case she wants to see you again?"

I don't want to see him again.

Maybe she did, before. Briefly, as a kid, but…she had a chance, when she was seventeen and she refused. She also didn't want to hold onto things; she'd let go of her father as…as a father a long time ago and right now she didn't want to hear apologies.

I want Mom.

Jack looked around Noah, meeting her eyes; she peered at him through her bangs, her shoulders trembling. It freaked her out. The look in his eyes. Like he was trying desperately to not explode at her. His voice was cool and low. "Maybe when you were little your mother could keep you from me, but you're not little anymore."

She swallowed hard, whispering. "And you're not my father. I don't want anything to do with you and I never did so…please…" She grit her teeth, tears flooding her vision, hissing. "Go."

He smiled quickly. He wasn't leaving just yet. His voice turned almost to a hiss as well. "Tell your daddy-brother that he's going to be hearing from me. He won't like what he hears."

What?

Her brow furrowed, her eyebrows coming to a point. It made her head hurt. "What?" she whispered, moving towards him, but Noah held her back. She leaned over Noah's broad arm against her chest, hinging on her father's words. "What did you just say?"

Jack walked back to the car, laughing and opening up the door. "Tim isn't going to like what I have to say. Trust me when I say, you'll see me."

Sophie moved over Noah's arm, but he pushed harder; she played into the movement, swiftly ducking beneath him and running to the car, ignoring her aching foot, hitting on the window. "What are you going to say?" she snapped, banging on it. "Lower this window!"

Jack lowered the window, as she demanded, smiling up at her, his voice still low. "Face it Sophie, I knew you weren't going to see me, but you and Tim owe me. Tell him I'm at the Best Western out by the highway, room 201. I look forward to seeing either of you there tonight. Nine."

He shook his head slightly, his voice softening even more. It made her feel like her blood was freezing in her veins. "You know your mother was a nice girl, but I didn't marry her to have kids. You owe me Sophie, I could have done this a long time ago but I waited until you were older." He shoved his sunglasses onto his face. "I'll be seeing you around."

Oh God.

She wanted to throw up. Her breath came in short gasps, staring after him as he drove away, gunning the engine once he hit the road, disappearing in a cloud of kicked up dirt and dust.

Ow…ow…

"Sophie."

She looked down at her hands, realizing her nails had been digging crescents into her palms, breaking the skin on a couple of them. Her foot felt like someone had just stabbed it. All of a sudden she went weak, leaning back against Noah, who caught her. "Ow!" she cried, realizing that her foot was more than just hurting. "Noah, my foot!"

The entire time she'd been standing on it, putting more and more weight on it. It felt like it was breaking, like she could feel it tearing. She screamed out in pain, grabbing him tightly, sobbing.

"It's okay," he whispered, lifting her up, carrying her to the house, the door opening. Noah called out, to what she assumed was Lyla, her face buried in his shoulder, crying.

She couldn't even hear them talking about her, carrying her into the house and setting her down. Someone's hand was on her foot. It was broad and callused; Noah. Let go of my foot…leave me alone…just leave me alone.

I've been such a good girl, she thought, crying. My mom died, I was a good girl for Mrs. Smith and then I was a good girl for Tim. Maybe a couple of times I was stupid and dumb and a teenager, but I have spent the last seventeen years practicing. Studying. Training. Spending hours and hours a day on her feet, swollen and broken and bruised and bloodied…

Why was he back?

I've been so good, why is he back? What did he want? What does he want to do with Tim?

Why, she cried, opening her eyes and staring up at the ceiling. Lyla leaned over her, assuring her it would be okay. "No it won't," she mumbled, pushing at her. She tried to sit up, but Noah pushed her back down.

"Honey, please tell me," Lyla whispered, stroking her face. There were tearstains on her cheeks, her eyes swollen red. Why had she been crying? She smiled, reassuring…motherly. "We can make it…better."

Everything is not going to be better.

Stop trying to make it better, Sophie wanted to scream, sitting up and looking between Lyla and Noah. She stared at her former boyfriend…whatever he was now. "Did you tell her?" she asked, her voice dull.

Noah shook his head.

Lyla touched her hand to her cheek, whispering. "Honey, we're going to take you to the hospital and get your foot looked at. It's really swollen; I don't think you should walk…now what happened out there, before we go? Who was out there?"

All it took was one quick look, before Lyla's eyes darkened in realization. Her voice dropped, cracking. "Your…your father?"

She nodded quickly.

That was all she had to do. "Okay," she whispered, taking a deep breath, slowly releasing it. Assessing the situation. Lyla was good at doing that. She lifted her eyes. "What did he want?"

Sophie's breath hitched in her throat, threatening to strangle her. She managed to push it down, blinking a few times and lifting her eyes to Lyla's, her voice cracking. "He said that Tim owed him…that if he didn't come to his hotel tonight, Tim was going to pay."

I don't know what that means. What could he possibly put out there that the rest of the world didn't already know about Tim? Why would he do this to me?

And it hurt. It stabbed her deep in her gut.

And not just because of this…whatever he was doing.

Sophie leaned against Lyla, crying into her shoulder, not because of what just happened. She almost expected that. Expected her horrible father to reappear and demand money or blackmail, which seemed to be what he was doing.

But she cried because a part of her actually wanted him to come back.

To see her.

Maybe like how Anne did with Tim.

And now that was gone. For good.


	14. Tim Confronts Walt

**A/N:**Thanks for all the reviews! The next chapter is kind of the big 'switch' and flips everything on its end a bit. Hopefully I navigate it smoothly, I'm a bit nervous. We'll see. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 14: Tim Confronts Walt**

"You want me to go with you?"

Tim leaned back in the front seat of his truck, surveying the one-story roadside motel through the dark tint of his sunglasses, musing on how to approach this situation. He glanced sideways at Coach Taylor, who had come with him, after Buddy found out from Lyla.

My whole life is a game of telephone.

Coach insisted on coming. Tim wouldn't say it, but he was glad he had Coach here. Buddy wanted to come, but that would just cause problems. Buddy wasn't the most tactful of people, he'd play this all wrong.

Not like Tim even knew how to play it.

He spotted the dark blue truck that had been stalking him and Lyla the last two weeks. Maybe even longer. Tim glanced down at his phone. He'd sent the license plate number to Billy, who passed it to a friend in the police department and gotten back the registration. It did belong to Walt Riggins. Galveston, Texas.

Guess he was letting Jack McConnell drive the truck to do his own bit of stalking.

Might as well just go up and inside.

The phone buzzed inside his pocket as he climbed out of the truck, but he ignored it. Right now he didn't want to deal with anything but this, he could only split his focus so much. It was probably Becky complaining about the office or something anyway. He glanced sideways at Coach, who was walking several steps behind him. "You don't have to be here," he said.

"Yes I do," Coach replied. He approached the room, knocking on the door.

A second later the door swung open, revealing Walt.

Tim got a better look at him now that he was standing two feet away, without a baby screaming in his arms or the shock of seeing his father again clouding his mind. He didn't look sick or anything. Of course, he was comparing it to the first time he got a good look at Anne. No yellow skin, just slightly, but Tim chalked that up to the alcoholism.

Maybe I'd look like this if I hadn't quit drinking a six-pack a day, he thought. He held his keys in his hand, turning them over and his thumb running over the links holding them together, dropping his gaze to the ground before he took a deep breath, lifting his eyes back to Walt.

Who looked relieved to see him.

Not quite the reaction I was expecting, he thought, gesturing towards the room, his voice soft. Like he hadn't used it in awhile. "Heard you wanted to see me. Can I come in?"

"Sure, sure…come…inside," Walt said, like he also had to learn how to speak again. He stepped back, glancing up, his voice cooling. "Coach."

Tim looked over his shoulder, whispering. "I got it Coach."

Eric glanced between both of them, nodding and stepping back out, jerking his thumb to the truck. "I'll be outside if you need me."

Thank you.

Tim looked around the small motel room, which was messy. Like Walt had been living in it. There were papers scattered on the small circular table in front of the window. Beer bottles were here and there. Kind of reminded him of the old house. He touched his fingers on a photo sticking out from beneath a newspaper on the table, tugging it out.

Where did you get this, he wondered, staring at the picture of Lyla and Buddy standing in front of the grand-opening of Buddy's-San Antonio, with him and Annie standing to the side. It was one of the only public photos of all of them together. She had made it perfectly clear to her publicity firm that only she was to be photographed and interviewed, that her family was off limits.

He looked up, silently questioning. Walt smiled a little, lifting his hand from where it was crossed over his chest, whispering. "I…found it. When…I was looking for you."

"I've always been here," he said. He smiled darkly; meanly. "I've always been in Dillon. I haven't left. Ever." Just that one time; there was that thirteen-month stint in Carr County Correctional Facility. Not my fault. Not that time at least. That was your other son, you know, the one that was always right about you.

Try to pull a Lyla, Tim thought to himself. Try to see that silver lining in just about everything. He raked his fingers through his hair, dropping the photo back on the table. He turned back around, his hands going to his hips, glancing at the ground and back up. What do you say in these types of situations?

He released a long breath, shaking his head slightly, swallowing hard. Walt was waiting for him to make the first move too. One of them had to or else they were going to spend the entire day like this. Fine, I'll do it. "You know Mom came back, right?"

Walt nodded. "Yeah. I'm sorry she died."

I'm sorry.

Tim quirked his lip up a little. "Did you put the rose at her headstone?" he whispered.

His father shifted a little, looking uncomfortable, before nodding again, walking over to him, and leaning to rearrange the papers on the table. "Yeah. She…we weren't good together. Brought out the worst in each other. You guys deserved better."

"So you just ran away?" Tim laughed. He still couldn't get over that argument. Maybe from Anne, because she'd shown how much she'd changed. How sorry she was. Plus she was gone; it wasn't…an issue.

Did it really matter though? It had been years. Decades.

He waved his hand, before Walt could say anything else to defend himself. "Forget it," he mumbled, pushing his fingers back through his hair. He lifted his eyes, whispering again. "Lyla said you wanted to talk to me. Something about Sophie's father. My sister."

Tim put extra emphasis on the words. To remind Walt that this wasn't about them or about Billy. It was about something bigger and whatever he'd done, he'd messed that up too.

"Yeah, that…" Walt sighed, mimicking Tim's earlier movement of raking his fingers through his hair, sending the silver-blond strands falling back over his forehead a moment later. He sat down in one of the chairs next to the table, folding his hands together. He waited a moment. "Listen Tim, I…I'm not a great father, I know that…"

"Get to the point." I'm not here to rehash history.

He smiled quickly, a little surprised. "You…you've changed."

Of course I've changed. Tim quirked his lip up, staring down at his father, his hands still on his hips, holding his car keys tightly in the one hand. "Yeah, well I'm not sixteen anymore. I have two kids. A life." I'm grown-up now, shocking though that may be.

Walt smiled again, a little warmer. "I know…I've seen them. They're cute. I didn't realize…realize you had kids. Not until I got here and started…looking. For you."

"For Jack McConnell?"

Obviously, Tim concluded, seeing the guilty look cross Walt's face. It was Billy's guilty look too. He rolled his eyes, going to sit beside him, leaning his arm on the table, murmuring. "I can't believe you'd be so stupid. Guess I can."

"Tim I didn't know okay? I had a heart…thing a few years ago. Medical bills are a bitch," Walt snapped, pushing up from a chair, turning quickly to face him, laughing. "And you know what? I'd seen some of the articles in the paper about Lyla. Saw a couple pictures of you. Did I ever come asking for money?"

No.

Not once.

He drew up, holding his breath in his chest for a moment, shaking his head slightly. "No," he mumbled, feeling like a dumb kid.

"No I didn't. I only found out about your kids when I got here, after I found you. Saw them and…and how happy you were. How happy they were, okay Tim? I was a terrible shit father and I know it, so I changed my mind after I got here." Walt swallowed hard, whispering, his eyes focused on him, sitting in the chair. "Jack McConnell found me and said he'd give me all the money I needed to cover the medical debt I'm in. All I had to do was find you and get you to meet him. Told him yesterday that wasn't going to happen. I changed my mind."

And you went to Lyla first. Saw Sophie. Changed your mind.

"And maybe I could have done it better but I don't know what to say Tim, okay?" Walt shook his head again. "What do you want me to say?"

What do you want me to say?

Tim rolled his eyes, not wanting to get into this. He got up from the chair, walking towards Walt, keeping his voice low, just between the two of them, even in the small motel room. "I want you to just leave me alone. Please."

It came out almost as…well begging.

Hell, I'm begging. Wouldn't be the first time. Probably won't be the last.

He closed is eyes, frowning slightly, not realizing how hard this was. "Thank you for letting me know about McConnell, but…"

The words trailed off as he felt his phone buzzing again. Walt cleared his throat. "You should probably get that."

I should. I…probably just work…Tim removed the phone, staring at the text from Tyra. He didn't question why Tyra was telling him about Sophie, just that they were taking her to the hospital, because she couldn't walk and something had happened, but Tyra didn't know what.

Jack.

Jack got to her.

"Damnit," he cursed, turning quickly, walking straight to the door and swinging it open, seeing Eric leaning against the truck. He turned quickly on his heel, worries of Sophie in his mind when he looked at Walt, who seemed concerned. "I'm not done with you, but I gotta' go. Sophie's…"

He turned again, stopping hard, forcing Walt to stop hard behind him. "This is your fault," he said. A look of surprise crossed Walt's face. He smiled, feeling mean. Really, really mean. Call it payback. It wasn't him. He didn't say things like this, but for all the angst that Anne caused him, he never felt this angry.

Tim laughed hard, throwing his hands out to the sides. "If you didn't bring him here, this wouldn't be happening!"

Walt lifted an eyebrow, shaking his head slightly. "He'd have found you some other way."

Maybe. But you wouldn't be here stirring up trouble too. Whether you want to cause it or not.

"Look," Tim snapped, tugging at his car keys. He had to get out of here; get to the hospital. He didn't know what else to say. What else he could possibly say. "Jack McConnell was never going to give you money. You brought him here for no reason. Just to cause problems."

That's all you've ever done.

He turned away from Walt, too sickened to keep talking. This was not how it was supposed to be. If Walt ever came back it wasn't supposed to taint Sophie like this. Now it was. "Please don't come by again," he said, pleading.

I don't care if you've changed. This isn't like Anne.

"Tim, please," Walt called out, walking to the truck, leaning against it, his face crestfallen. "Please, I don't want anything from you."

"Good."

"Tim," Eric warned.

Tim leaned on the open window of the truck, shoving his sunglasses up over his nose, almost growling. "The last time I saw you, you were watching me play football. That was your choice. You can't come back now and change it."

And I can't let you change it.

I've been burned too much.

He backed away from the motel, leaving his father standing in the parking lot, with Coach Taylor sitting silently beside him.

After a few minutes, Eric said his name quietly. Tim shook his head slightly, glancing down and realizing that he was going almost ninety miles an hour. He eased off the accelerator, glancing out of the corner of his eye to Eric.

He cleared his throat. "We're going to the hospital. Sophie's hurt."

"How bad?"

I don't have a clue. But if it's anything like me, pretty bad, Tim thought.


	15. Lyla Has A Plan

**Chapter 15: Lyla Has A Plan**

"Oh thank God."

Lyla jumped up, her arms going around Tim when she saw him running towards her down the hall of the ER. She held him tight, burying her face into his shoulder. "She's okay," she said immediately, when she pulled back, stroking his face. That would be his first concern. She smiled shakily. "She's kind of shaken up, but…the doctor did some scans and…looks like she's torn her ligament in her foot and she's got a pretty bad stress fracture, so…they're putting her in a boot or something."

"She's not going to like that," Tim mumbled, his arms still around her, but he was looking off towards the row of curtains in the main ward area. He let go of her, his hands going down to her hands, holding them loosely. "You okay?"

"Yeah, why?"

He shrugged, whispering, his eyes intense on hers. "Just wondering. You seem…off."

Why are you asking about me? "How did it go with your father?" she whispered. This wasn't the best place to have that conversation, but…might as well just find out. She reached to flick a strand of hair out of his eyes, forgetting that there was another visitor with them at the hospital.

Tyra had left, going to be with Mindy and the kids at the house; she didn't know what his reaction would be when he found out that the kid he called "Little Street" had been secretly seeing his little sister for what seemed like a long enough time.

You're not hearing me, she thought, seeing his frown. He was in a whole other world right now, where Sophie was the primary focus, nothing else. She tried to smile a little, but mostly she wanted to know how it went with Walt.

And what Jack had to do with this.

She had been inside with Tyra, talking about…anything. Wondering why Sophie was gone so long in the barn, with Noah, and wondering about that relationship. Thinking she heard a car pull up, but she was in the back room with Tyra. She'd gone into the kitchen to clean up her face a little, from her crying jag with Tyra, when she'd heard Sophie start yelling.

By the time she'd run to see what was happening, Noah was carrying her into the house and Sophie was a mess, crying about how she was fine, but she definitely wasn't.

Lyla had only seen Sophie cry a couple of times. Once was when she broke up with David, who she thought, at the time, was the love of her life. When you were 17-years old, everything was the love of your life. She'd calmed down from that pretty quickly. The second time was after a particularly bad day of bullying, but Sophie had also gotten over that. She'd gotten even.

And the third was when she'd lost a role in Giselle to someone who was sleeping with the director.

Every other time…Sophie was just strong. She didn't cry. Didn't really mean she was handling it well, since Lyla had been there, done that. The longer you remained stoic, the harder you were going to crash.

Sophie was crashing hard.

"Why is Noah Street here?" Tim wondered out loud, letting go of her, walking towards Noah, who had stepped out from one of the rooms, tugging the curtain shut. "Hey Noah, what's going on?"

Lyla turned on her heel, hurrying towards the both of them. I've also been there, done that with having a secret relationship. Didn't turn out so well and sometimes the best thing to do was just grab the guy in the middle of the room with your father watching and lay one on him, but if Sophie or Noah did that now, Lyla didn't think Tim would respond the way her dad did.

She grabbed hold of Tim's elbow, turning him away slightly and smiling at Noah, who seemed surprised to see Tim so soon. "Noah was visiting his grandparents and he and Sophie are friends, he was hanging out with her in the barn when…this all happened."

Right? Lyla lifted her eyebrow, ensuring Noah got the point she was trying to make. He nodded quickly, speaking quietly. "Yeah, we were hanging out and were going…" Noah trailed off, sighing, reaching to rub the back of his neck. "Were going to go into town when Jack showed up. He…said some things."

"What kind of things?" Tim demanded.

"Tim!"

He immediately broke his concentration on Noah, walking around the curtain and into the room at Sophie's shout. Great, another interruption. She wanted to let him know, as soon as possible, about Jack's threatening message he'd left behind with Sophie. Lyla peered through the gap between the wall and the curtain, seeing him wrapping Sophie up in his arms. Her leg was propped up on pillows, with a heavy plastic boot velcroed around it.

They needed their time; she had to let them have it. While they had their brother and sister time, she'd use her time to talk with Noah. Noah, who looked awfully nervous being around her, alone, all of a sudden. Yeah buddy, she thought, narrowing her eyes and reaching for him, touching her hand lightly to his forearm. I have eyes, I know all about it.

Her fingers tightened slightly on his forearm.

Tim called it a 'magic touch.' It was what he told Annie, when she was sick or hurt, that Mommy had the 'magic touch.' One light touch from her and you instantly felt relaxed, he said.

And it seemed to work on Noah, who softened a little, smiling a little warmer. "I think you and I need to talk," Lyla murmured. She turned around, to walk him out of the ER ward and to one of the hallways, stopping when she saw Coach Taylor walking towards them. "Coach."

Yet another unexpected visitor and interruption. This was becoming comical, she mused.

"Hey there Lyla, sweetie, how are you?" Eric leaned in, kissing her cheek and lifting his head, letting out a loud bark of laughter. "Noah Street! How are you son? Don't you have season starting in a few weeks?"

Damnit. Now they were going to go do boy things and talk about football.

She must have been glaring pretty hard, because Eric glanced her way and then back to Noah, clearing his throat. "You know, we can catch up later. I've called Tami, she's on her way to get me." He raked his hand over his hair, glancing between them both. "How is Sophie?"

"Coping," Lyla whispered. That was the truth. As limited as it was, based on her limited information. She lifted her eyes to Eric. Of the two of them here, he knew more about the moment with Walt than she did. "How is Tim?"

Eric smiled quickly. "Coping," he replied.

Yeah. I figured as much. It just depended on which coping mechanism Tim chose to use. Running away, drinking, or just plain denial, all three were pretty much the same.

"I need to go make some calls, Billy's been bugging me to come back to practice," Eric said, excusing himself and leaving them alone again. Finally.

"Let's go," Lyla said, touching Noah's shoulder and walking out of the ER, choosing a quiet hallway. She didn't invade Sophie's space. Never had. Her mother had been all over her private life, wanting to know every single detail. It just forced her to try to hide more of it.

Even after Pam moved to California, she'd tried to keep that hold over her. When she called, after the infamous kiss she laid on Tim in front of her father, Lyla had wanted to scream, as her mother went on and on about how yes, every girl had to date a bad boy, but was serious. This was a guy who drank! With no parents! The horror!

So Lyla never did that with Sophie. She wouldn't do it with Annie, if she could help it. She knew Tim was pretty much the same way, but Sophie did tell him just about everything. Now though…Lyla wanted to know. For Sophie's good, during whatever was happening with both Tim and her fathers.

She crossed her arms over her chest, lifting her eyes to Noah. He looked a lot like Jason. Too much, sometimes. "Noah," she whispered, glancing down the hall in each direction, before lifting her eyes back to his. "What happened out there with Sophie? What aren't you telling me that she didn't tell me in the house?"

He'd cave, she thought. He shifted a few times, his arms crossing over his chest, stretching his t-shirt over his broad shoulders. He ducked his head when someone passed. He was fairly noticeable, especially in Dillon, since he visited so often. "I…" he trailed off, closing his eyes. He sighed. "Look, she told you…"

"If you love Sophie, which I know you do, you'll tell me. Sophie told me, but I want your interpretation," she whispered.

That was wrong to do. Emotional blackmail. But it would get her an answer and right now Lyla needed answers if she was going to…

Make it better, she thought briefly.

Lyla swallowed hard, continuing, her voice trembling. "Noah I need to know what Jack said to her if I can help her. If I can help Tim…this is important. I don't…don't care what you guys are doing or…or if you're…"

"We're not seeing each other," Noah said, interrupting. He smiled quickly, crossing his arms tighter. He smiled again, sheepish, kind of sad, actually. "Well…not anymore, but…yes. Look, he said some things to her, I didn't get close enough to really hear, but…" He shrugged again, mumbling. "He wants money I think, or…I don't know, he wants to talk to her or Tim tonight, said he was in the Best Western, room 201. Nine o'clock tonight."

Best Western, room 201.

Well, Tim wouldn't be there, but someone certainly would.

"Thank you." Lyla squeezed his hand. She smiled softly, her eyes sparkling. Noah and Sophie. Well there was a match she never would have imagined, but which, now that she thought of it, wasn't a bad match at all.

Noah's calmness probably tempered Sophie's trend towards extremes. He was stable, she moved around a lot. He was gifted, just like Sophie, but he wasn't arrogant about it in the way Sophie almost had to be arrogant with her gifts. Opposites.

Speaking as someone who fell in love with and finally married her opposite, Lyla thought that was the better type of relationship you could have. She wondered how long Noah and Sophie had been together, but she knew she wasn't going to get that answer.

"Thank you sweetie," she said, letting go of him and taking a step away. She walked away from him, going into the room, her fingers gripping the curtain. Sophie and Tim sat on the bed, with Tim's arms around Sophie, her head on his shoulder.

Like when she was small, Lyla remembered. She called out, keeping her voice down. "I'm going to go back to the house and get some things set up for you, okay sweetie?"

"Okay," Sophie said, clearing her throat. She lifted her eyes, which were ringed with red from crying. "I'm sorry."

"Oh honey you have nothing to be sorry for." Lyla walked over, leaning down to hug and kiss her. Nothing at all to be sorry for. She squeezed her hand. "You'll be just fine, it's just a little injury. This one right here dislocated his shoulder and still managed to play through it. More times than I can count."

Sophie glanced at Tim, who was shrugging like it was no big deal. "You dislocated your shoulder? How many times?"

"Let's see…" Tim's hand went to the bad shoulder, which still troubled him, and thought for a second. "From Pee Wee on? About six times."

It was amazing he had anything left to dislocate. Lyla shrugged, whispering. "See? And he can still manage. You'll be just fine, Noah's outside, he'll be coming in, in a minute." She glanced at Tim. He didn't seem too concerned about it, but he was probably still processing that information. They'd talk later.

Meanwhile, she was going to go protect her family.

"I'll be back at the house in a little bit. When are they going to release you?" she asked.

"Couple hours."

"Okay. Tyra is with Mindy and the kids. Tim…" Lyla nodded towards the hall. Maybe they could finally have that conversation. She nodded again, waiting for him to finally take the hint, which he did.

He climbed from the bed, walking out and following her. She led him down a separate corridor, seeing Noah head in to be with Sophie. Once they were in a more private location, she leaned in, her arms crossed, hissing. "Jack McConnell wants you or Sophie to meet him at his hotel room or something bad is going to happen. That's pretty much the gist. Nine tonight, that's in two hours."

Tim closed his eyes, his hands going to his hips. He turned a couple of times, pushing his hands through his hair after a moment. Processing. He dropped his hands to scrub at his face. "Fuck," he drawled. He closed his eyes again, breathing deeply.

Yeah. Seriously. Just went to show how stressed out he was over this thing; Tim never really swore. I can fix this though, she thought, biting at her lower lip. She knew what she had to do. I can protect the both of you and make it go away, if you let me if…if you just let me leave here in a minute. She tossed her hair out of her eyes, whispering. "It's not the end of the world. You stay with Sophie…"

"Noah's with her." He blinked a couple of times. It finally seemed to click. He frowned, brow wrinkling. "Noah…what's he doing here with her? What's that about?"

Sophie hadn't told either of them for whatever reason; it wasn't Lyla's business. Neither was it Tim's, until Sophie wanted to share it. "It's not mine to tell," she said, by way of subtle explanation. He didn't seem to get it, frowning hard, so she changed the subject again, reaching to rub at his upper arm, reassuring. "What did your father say?"

They had to talk about that. Oh yeah, she thought, lifting her eyebrow, reminding him when she saw his dark glare. We've been through this Tim. It sucks, I know it sucks, but you tell me everything. I'm your wife. He shifted on his feet, reaching down to tug at the bottom of her t-shirt, pulling her against him.

He kissed her lightly. Don't try to change the subject, she thought, not returning the kiss, her fingers touching the center of his chest, pressing gently. "What did your father say?" she repeated.

I need to know, before I go into the lion's den.

He glanced down at her. Shook his head. After a moment of fighting with himself, he finally caved, his voice hushed. "I don't want to do this here Lyla."

Lyla. Not Garrity. Serious.

I know, but I need to know before I go into this, she thought, biting at her bottom lip. "Please," she whispered, her teeth clenched and brow wrinkled. She swallowed hard. "Tim what did he say?"

Tim raked his hand through his hair again, breathing deep for a few seconds. "I…he said that…that he was just…he knew about me, I guess," he whispered, his gaze on hers. But he didn't seem to be…seeing her. "Jack went to him, said he got me to meet him…he'd give him half of whatever he was gonna' get. I guess Jack wants money too, but…my dad changed his mind. Saw…" His voice caught. "Saw us."

And he changed his mind. Because he saw how happy you were. How your kids are. It was funny; to watch people you love age. Hell, she was forty-years old and she'd just given birth, so for her it wasn't really…she could feel the difference, compared to five years ago with Annie.

But looking at her father…Buddy wasn't the best father in the world. Yeah, he loved them, but it came out in ways that often clashed with what was actually best for his children. He took all their college money and sunk it into bad investments, for instance. But Buddy was old. He'd had two heart attacks and one bypass. He'd…softened around the edges. He thought more about his grandchildren than he did other things.

He'd even started a fund for her nephew, Tabby's son, and his only other grandchild, since she was living a hippie life and didn't really have a lot of money. Getting old…seeing your kids…Lyla was 100% positive that Walt had probably undergone that same thought process Buddy had when he saw Annie for the very first time.

Tim frowned, whispering again. "I didn't think he could change…he did, but…he still wanted to sell me out for money."

And he changed, Tim. "Think about that," she breathed. She shrugged. Sometimes what people didn't do was worth more and was more important than what they did. It worked both ways. "He isn't selling you out."

"Yeah, but it was his first thought."

I'm not going to tell you what to do with your father, just like I didn't tell you want to do with your mother, but he did decide against continuing with this after seeing the children. Seeing Sophie and how happy she was. Lyla reached up, kissing his cheek and patting his chest. "I'm going to go check on the kids. I'll be at the house later."

"Lyla."

She quirked her lip up, trying to play light. "Thought my name was Garrity?"

Tim didn't smile. He shook his head, whispering, warning. "You're going to check the kids."

Yes, of course I am. She swallowed hard, glancing down at her feet, lifting her eyes back up. "I'm going to check my kids and…and protect my family."

"No." He strode quickly towards her, gripping her wrists, hissing. "This is not your fight. I'll…I'll go see him…"

"No," she interrupted. She pressed her hand to his face, whispering. "Tim, this how you deal with bullies, okay? You don't cave into their demands. He wants you or Sophie, and he's not getting either. I've made up my mind. I'm going."

He wrinkled his brow, shaking his head again. "Garrity…what about…"

"I'll be fine, Tim."

"No, no someone's going with you…Coach or someone…"

Lyla stood on her toes, kissing him lightly and whispering. "I'll call Billy," she lied, letting go. She met his eyes again, silently telling him that no, she wasn't going to call Billy. This was something she wanted to do; she had to do it.

He just stared her down, his eyes finally closing. "Be careful," he breathed, kissing her again. She returned the kiss, stroking at his face for a moment.

"Always," she breathed. She let go of him, her fingers drifting over his before she turned around completely, walking away and removing her car keys from her pocket, walking out of the hospital, her mind racing.

It was just in the formative stages. She'd figure it out as she drove.

I didn't get where I am without having that…streak. Mindy called it crazy. Tyra just said she was good at being devious. It was her cute little girl face and voice that drove men to their knees, right before she swung the axe.

I wasn't that horrible, Lyla thought, driving away from the hospital, leaning against the open window, her hair blowing back from her face. The cool band of her wedding set pressed into her forehead. Reminding her, constantly reminding her, of what she'd given New York up for.

With Tim…home was Dillon. But it was also something else. It was something he'd always wanted, and sometimes it changed, he put it into people. Jason was his home. She was his home. For a brief period of time, Tyra was his home.

For me, it's just where I'll be happy, and I wasn't happy in New York without him, she thought, pulling the car into the driveway. And sometimes you had to protect that home. She climbed out of the car, going inside and jogging up the stairs to her room.

She went straight to the closet, pushing aside shirts and coats, leaning in the back, into the wall-safe, punching a code and tugging on a handle, popping it open.

Lyla stared at the stacks of cash and the important documents. She reached in and removed a folder, staring down at the marriage license. She ran her finger over Tim's signature, barely legible compared to her neat cursive. She smiled, a tear tracking down her cheek. She folded it back up and reached in, taking out cash, shoving it into a bag at her feet.

Several minutes later, she was out the door and headed towards the old Best Western where Jack was staying.

The sun was already over the horizon; how had the day gone by so quickly?

The car came to a stop, almost silently, in front of the hotel. She sat back in her seat, staring up at the room; it was an open-corridor layout. No cars really or people. Dim lighting. She closed her eyes, praying briefly for a moment. Just keep me safe, she thought, reaching for the bag of money and climbing out of her SUV.

At the top of the stairs, she did another scan of the parking lot; practically empty, just a sedan, like a rental. Jack must have borrowed Walt's truck to do the drive-by on the house, the week before. When he first got to town, before Walt changed his mind.

She stopped in front of 201. Here goes nothing, she thought, lifting her knuckles up to the door, rapping sharply.

I hope that sound I'm hearing…he can't hear. It was her heart. Echoing in her ears.

The door pulled back, Jack standing on the other side. Lyla was reminded once again how smarmy he seemed; she'd only see him the day of the court hearing, when she'd testified for Tim. She set her jaw, rising up a little. "Jack McConnell?" she demanded, putting her 'business' voice on. She didn't wait for confirmation; of course he was Jack. "My name is Lyla Garrity."

"Tim's little wife," Jack drawled. He chuckled, glancing around her, clearly annoyed that Tim or Sophie weren't there. "He send you to do his dirty work?"

Tim doesn't let me do anything for him.

Just like I don't let him do anything for me.

I can handle myself. I'm Lyla Garrity, I'm a force of nature, she thought, arching her eyebrow, her lip curving up with it. She didn't answer his question. "I hear you want to talk," she said, smiling a little wider. "Think of me as the official representative of the Riggins family." She stepped into the hotel, dropping the bag on the table and without breaking eye contact, unzipped it, tilting it towards him.

He glanced down at the money and back up to her, whispering. "That for me?"

"Only if you adhere to a couple of requirements," she replied. She pursed her lips, waiting for him to step back into the room. Requirements like, never come back here again. Never talk to anyone again. Things like that. She was about to take the money and go a moment later, when he still hadn't closed the door.

In the parking lot, she saw a set of headlights cross over the window, pulling into the spot beside her. It looked like a truck, but she couldn't see once it pulled up completely, beneath the balcony.

Jack cleared his throat. "Fine, we'll talk." He stepped into the room, closing the door with a soft click.

And Lyla placed her hand into her pocket, slowly flicking a switch.


	16. Sophie and Recovery

**A/N:**It is incredibly more than likely that I jumped the shark with this and the next chapter, but...by the time I started having second thoughts, I'd already finished all but the epilogue of the fic, so...yeah. Oh well if I did, LOL. Enjoy (hopefully!) and thank you for the reviews :)

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**Chapter 16: Sophie and Recovery**

"Where's Lyla?"

"With the kids," Tim replied, knocking a few pain pills into his hand from the prescription the doctor had left her with, passing them towards her, along with a bottle of water. He pointed to them, sitting in the palm of her hand. "Swallow. Drink."

Yes master, Sophie thought, but didn't bother saying aloud. She rolled her eyes, doing as she was told. She was fine; she wasn't an invalid. All she was, was just an idiot who probably should have taped her ankle a little tighter or something when she was practicing.

But nope, she'd ended up dancing on it and then…Jack.

I can't even think of him as my father.

Sophie rubbed at her wrist. His blood was inside of her. She just…she wanted to take a shower for the next twenty years or something. He was so…gross. So scary. She shouldn't have told Lyla what he said to her. That's where she was, Sophie was positive of it. Lyla was the one with the money; she was going to see Jack.

Pay him off.

Whatever lies Jack wanted to say, she…she didn't want to deal with them, but clearly Lyla and Tim didn't want to deal with them anymore than her. Protection. That seemed to be their business.

She lifted her head, watching Tim come towards her, holding a bunch of papers in his hand, along with her tablet computer. He had to have gotten those from the barn, damnit. "What are you doing?" she demanded, lifting her eyes up to his. "These are mine."

"Relax, I thought I'd bring them to you since you're going to be laid up, didn't think you wanted to go back to that apartment right now." Tim passed her the papers sitting on the coffee table beside her. He folded his hands together, leaning on his knees, waiting.

Ask it, I know you want to, she thought. Tim finally cleared his throat, whispering. "What's with the songs?"

My new career path, maybe, she thought, not that she wanted it. She wanted to dance. My foot…she glanced down at the ugly boot they'd put her foot in, telling her to keep it in there unless she was showering and come back in two weeks. Let the doctor in England know, start therapy, and basically just don't overdo it while it healed.

I have to let Mikhail know. He's going to remove me from consideration for Swan Lake. I'll be stuck in the corps…or just sit this one out. No one wants a ballet dancer who just sits there and can't do anything, even if she was injured. Hell, she couldn't just sit there, that wasn't her.

She'd have to deal with it as it all happened, which she hated.

Sophie tucked her hair behind her ear, rearranging the music in her lap, answering his question. "It's just drafts…I'm choreographing something."

"Cool. That like dance steps?"

Yes, it's like dance steps; just stop trying to make small talk. Noah had disappeared after they left the hospital, saying he'd check on her later, but he needed to go let his grandparents know he was here. She was thankful for it, Tim had been giving him 'The Look' for most of the early evening.

And she was waiting on the questions to start coming out.

Sophie felt her ankle and foot continue to throb; so much for painkillers. She set the papers and everything aside, looking up at him. My big brother, who was always there for her and I just…

I did this, she thought, blinking at tears. Damnit, she never cried and now here she was just bawling today. Goodness. She let her hands fall in her lap, lifting her face to his. "I'm sorry," she cried.

His face fell. "Oh…" he whispered, reaching for her, hugging her tight. She gripped the back of his shirt, tight in her fists, needing him. He stroked her hair, whispering into her ear. "It's not your fault." He pulled away from her, still stroking her hair, wiping at her face.

I know you hate crying, she thought, wiping at her eyes with him, sniffing. She tried to smile, but couldn't. My fault, I brought him here. Tim shook his head, whispering. "It's not your fault at all." He licked his lips, hesitating for a second before speaking. "My father…he brought him back. Jack was always going to come asking for money."

What? She frowned, tucking her hair behind her ear again. She sniffed. "What? Your dad…"

He nodded, whispering, idly flicking at stray tears on her face, letting his hands fall down to her lap, reaching to wrap his fingers around hers. "Yeah," he sighed. He glanced down at their hands. He waited a beat. "He was going to get half of whatever Jack tried to blackmail us on…whatever lies he felt people might entertain long enough to get more money."

Yeah, he was going to say things, but…what could he say? Nothing was true. She shook her head, frowning again. "What was he going to say?" she whispered.

Tim shrugged, leaning back a little. He pushed his hands through the hair, sighing in defeat. Tired, he was tired. "Who the hell knows? He was going to lie. Make up stuff about us, probably. Like he did during the trial." He hesitated again, dropping his gaze to his hands, fiddling with his wedding ring. "I…I…never told you all he said for a reason Sophie. To protect you."

Stop protecting me. For the love of God, stop protecting me.

She sat up on the couch, her foot still propped on pillows at the end of it. She leaned on her hand, keeping her head up, shaking it slightly at her brother. My big brother. All he ever wanted was to protect me. Protect me from Mom's death, from being alone…from the world.

But Tim let her live. He let her go out and party, he let her have a boyfriend even if he hated the guy, and he let her go to Russia for three months and New York City and…and he didn't say a word. All he ever said was 'go.' In the beginning they had very little money, she knew it now, but before she didn't. Tim still got enough together every month to pay for a private dance tutor and barre time.

And once she even found a brochure for a private dance school in Connecticut. He'd sent away for her to go to it, but they didn't have any more scholarships available for that year. She'd never told him. The next year she'd thrown away the application he'd put together, because she didn't want to leave.

"I love you," she whispered, looking down. She blinked a few times; don't cry, now isn't the time to cry. Sophie nibbled on her bottom lip, lifting her eyes back to his again. "But I don't need you to protect me Tim. I'm not five and Mom isn't upstairs dying of cancer. You don't need to tell me that she's sick and she won't get better and that she's in the sun or the clouds or anything."

She continued, keeping her voice soft. "I'm an adult, I…I have my own life and I'm sorry, but sometimes you and Lyla and Billy and Mindy don't get to know all of it so…but I'll tell you, if you want to know. I'll tell you, but you have to promise that you'll stop protecting me to the point where you're hurting me."

Maybe that wasn't the word to use, she thought, when she saw him draw back slightly, his eyes widening. "Hurt you?" he whispered.

She nodded quickly. "You could have told me about my dad in the very beginning. I wasn't going to break Tim. I had to come outside today and find him on the driveway saying horrible things and threatening to hurt you if I didn't do something for him! Do you think that was better for me?"

That wasn't fair. Especially seeing the hurt look cross his face. Don't do that, don't do that look, that hurt puppy dog look that's been getting you whatever you want since you were a little kid.

Sophie slipped her fingers beneath her knee, lifting her leg up and off the couch, setting it gingerly on the floor, leaning over her knees to take his hands into hers, holding for a moment, her voice quiet. "I just wanted to know Tim. You protecting me ended up backfiring."

I said it. I said what I wanted to say. The one thing I love the most about you; how you've taken care of me, but…sometimes it can just be too much.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. A muscle ticked in his jaw, his eyes focused intensely on hers, apologizing. "I'm so sorry Sophie. I just…didn't want…didn't want you…" He sighed, shrugging. "Hurt."

"I don't want to hurt you either," Sophie said, keeping her voice down. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, mumbling. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you the real reason why I got time off from the ballet…I had the stress fracture like a month ago and…and they told me to take a few weeks before the regularly scheduled break…I'm sorry."

I feel like an idiot. Crazy Sophie, doing more harm than good. Maybe Noah was right about me, about…my drive. Sometimes it got in the way of what mattered. Whatever that was.

Tim squeezed her hands lightly in his. "I just don't want you to really hurt yourself Sophie." He cocked his head, frowning. "Not to change the subject, but…what is going on between you and Noah Street?"

I knew you were going to ask that. She didn't say a word, just darted her gaze around the room. How could you tell someone something about your relationship when you didn't even know if it was a relationship?

"You can't tell me that it's not okay to hide things from you but not have it be that way with me. It's a two-way street, Sophie," Tim warned. He shrugged. "I get to know, because you made such a big deal about all of this. Besides, his father's my best friend, I've seen that look…the one he had in the hospital, when we were in the room together."

What? Sophie lifted her head. "Excuse me?"

He quirked his lip, whispering. "I've seen it, because for the better part of four years I saw it on Jason when he was looking at Lyla. You kind of figure it out and can't forget it when you're also in love with the girl." He lifted his eyebrows, smiling a little. "So what's up with that? You guys together?"

You're not angry? Sophie frowned, unaccustomed to a calm Tim when it came to her love life. She bit her lower lip. "You don't…" She closed her mouth, opened it again, genuinely surprised. "You mean you're not…"

"Mad? No. I'm mad you kept it secret!"

Secrets, Sophie thought, shaking her head. She hated them for this reason. She sighed again. "I don't know Tim. He's a boyfriend, he's a friend…we've been together since my freshman year at Julliard. Off and on."

"Five years!"

"Don't make a big deal."

"It is a big deal!" Tim exclaimed. Completely backtracking what he'd said a moment ago about not being mad. He got up from the coffee table, turning to face her again when the front door opened and then slammed shut. He looked around it, calling out. "Garrity?"

"Uh…yeah, I'll…just a second!"

Lyla sounded weird. Sophie looked up at Tim, concerned. He shook his head a little, glancing down at her, looking slightly panicked. What happened? "She went to see him," Sophie whispered, concluding. She wasn't stupid. S he closed her eyes tight. "She went to see him, go…go upstairs."

"I'll…" Tim didn't finish, turning and running up the stairs, the wood squeaking beneath his feet. There were some more footsteps creaking upstairs, until there weren't.

She didn't know what was going on, what Lyla planned to do, but…she wasn't an idiot. She paid him off. Jack…he was gone…she hoped like hell that he was gone.

I have to get off this couch. Her hands itched to get upstairs, to find out what was happening.

Sophie got up from the couch, grabbing the crutches they'd given her and hobbled out of the living room into the kitchen, where she opened the fridge, staring at nothing. Tim and Lyla didn't really cook. There were just bottles of milk for Max, juiceboxes, and other kid snacks. She grabbed a snack-pack of apple slices, shoving it between her teeth and made her way out of the kitchen back to the living room.

She sank down onto the couch, opening up the apple slices. They were not what she wanted, but…oh well. She bit down into one, tossing the rest on the coffee table and falling backwards onto the couch.

I have to know.

She got the crutches, swinging herself to the stairs, staring up them. She released a long breath. This was going to be embarrassing.

Sophie held the crutches, turning around and basically butt-walking her way upstairs, until she got to the top, turning on her stomach and carefully lifting herself up, using the banister for support. She left the crutches on the ground, hopping on one leg to the closed doors of Tim and Lyla's room.

She waited a second, hearing frantic speaking from behind the doors. After a moment, she knocked quickly. "Hey, it's me."

The door opened a moment later, Tim stepping aside. "Hey," he whispered, glancing over his shoulder, where Lyla was coming out of the bathroom, wrapped up tight in a robe, her dark wet hair tied up on her head. That was a fast shower. Guess my initial thought was right.

"Lyla," she whispered, pushing by her brother into the room, her heart pounding. What happened? She bit down on her lip, feeling fuzzy. The painkillers must have started working. She blinked a few times, sitting at the edge of the bed, her eyes still on her sister-in-law.

Lyla came over to her, sitting down beside her, taking her hand into hers, smiling, her eyes shiny with tears. "He's gone," she breathed. She reached out, touching her cheek. "Don't cry."

I can't help it. She glanced at Tim, for confirmation. "He's…gone?" How? She swallowed hard. "So…so you went and…what…what was he going to say?" I know what he was going to say, but…I need to hear it.

The two of them did one of their silent conversations, until Tim finally caved, coming over to sit beside her, reaching his arm around to hold her shoulder against his, whispering. "He's gone Sophie, he…"

"He threatened to say terrible things," Lyla explained, her voice calm. She stared straight at her, whispering. "Things that can devastate someone, even if they're not true. He was going to lie about Tim and you, that he hurt you as a kid. He was going to try to make it so Tim might lose Annie. In so many words."

Oh God.

She looked back at Tim, who was just staring off at nothing, in his own little world. Oh my God… just because of me? Because he couldn't have me? I can't…can't comprehend… Sophie closed her eyes tight, releasing a gasp. "But he's gone…he can't do that?"

Both of them shook their heads. Lyla swallowed, her throat constricting, her voice tight. The memory of what happened was obviously still paining her. "I told him, after he said that to me, that he could have the money. I told him not to come back, that if he did…he'd regret it. He got angry, he wanted more and…well I got out of there as fast as I could, but…but I don't think he's going to come back."

She glanced at Tim, whispering. "I called the police, they should be going to get him…" she trailed off, shrugging her shoulders, breathing. Her hand reached up, stroking Sophie's cheek, and brushing her hair over her shoulders. "It's all over sweetie. You don't need to worry about him anymore."

"She made sure of it," Tim whispered.

You made sure of it?

She wanted to know what that meant. Wanted to know about the police…were they going to have to deal with a trial or something? I just want him gone. He isn't my father, I'm not him…I know that…I just want this all to be over.

So…did it really matter though?

They said he was done. They'd made sure of it, whatever that meant.

Jack McConnell was out of her life.

She closed her eyes, sighing, shaking her head, lifting it up to the ceiling and whispering. "Is he really gone?"

"Yes," Tim repeated. "Yes. He's gone."

Gone.

He can't come back, he can't hurt Tim, and he can't make his life miserable again. He can't make my life miserable again. All that worry and pain of the last…day and it really turned out to be nothing.

Something didn't seem to add up.

Don't think about that right now. Think about good things. Jack was gone…her foot wasn't as bad as…well it was bad, but she was trying to think positively. It would heal. She could dance again, it wasn't career ending…yet.

And Noah…oh Noah, she thought, closing her eyes tight. What am I going to do with you Noah?

Sophie pushed it out of her mind, reaching to hug Lyla. To focus on right now. "Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me baby. You're my sister too."

You're more like my mother, Sophie thought, closing her eyes and nodding. She felt Tim come sit beside her again, wrapping his arms around them both. She smiled, feeling completely smothered by the both of them, but she didn't mind.

The front door opened, slamming shut a second later. "Daddy! Mommy!" Annie bellowed up the stairs. "I'm hungry!"

Max began to cry, Tyra telling Annie to stop yelling or she'd get Max angry.

"I think that's my cue," Lyla said, slipping out from under both of them, leaving the room. Tim gave her one more hug, whispered he loved her, and got up, going downstairs to get the kids.

Like they didn't just pay off someone for trying to extort them with lies, call the police, and apparently just…do whatever it was that they did.

Sophie sat on the bed for a few more minutes. Jack was gone, he wasn't going to come back they said.

And she wouldn't have to worry anymore, she guessed…she didn't really worry of things. Just kind of took them and went. Dance, that was the only thing she worried about and…she hoped whatever Lyla had done, it truly meant he was gone for good.

She got up from the bed; hobbling over and getting her crutches, making her way back downstairs, pushing her father from her mind. He wasn't even really her father anyway, she figured.

So why should she worry?


	17. Tim's Bad News

**A/N:**Hopefully people are still interested in the story. Sorry about the delay in posting chapters, I wanted to give people a time to catch up and I got kind of sucked into writing another story that I'm very much into and is probably my favorite of all I've written (including these last two fics). Anyway, hopefully people keep up with this one, it should be done soon, I just have to finish the Epilogue. Thanks and enjoy :)

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**Chapter 17: Tim's Bad News  
**

I can't sleep.

Tim lay awake in bed, knowing it was close to five in the morning. He could hear Lyla's even breathing beside him, but he also knew she was awake. It was too shallow for someone who should have been asleep. She tended to sleep like a rock these days.

Stupid, parents with an almost four-month old and they weren't even sleeping when he was.

He couldn't help but think about the phone calls they were going to have to make, to deal with. Lyla had said she'd recorded the whole conversation with Jack. She'd taken it to the police station, it was why she was later than she expected, because they wouldn't let her go.

Finally they did, promising to contact her once they arrested Jack. That was a couple of hours ago. He kept waiting for someone to come banging on the door to talk some more. Cops didn't really adhere to normal working hours.

"Tim."

"Yeah?"

"Someone's outside."

He closed his eyes. It was about time. He got up, crawling from the bed, tugging on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, while Lyla pulled on her robe over her pajama pants and tank top, walking down the stairs; she went to check on Max. He'd probably be awake anyhow.

Tim could see the car headlights through the filmy curtains on either side of the door. He pulled it open, just in time to see two detectives; they were wearing suits, approaching the steps. "Can I help you gentlemen?" he asked.

"Mr. Riggins, you're awake," one of them said, surprised that they didn't have to come knock on the door. He held out his badge and credentials. "My name is Detective Evans, this is my partner, Detective Quinn. We're here, as I'm sure you know, to investigate Jack McConnell."

"My wife said all she had to say at the station tonight, she said she dropped off the recording of us being extorted," he said, keeping his words even. He glanced at the both of them. "She said it wasn't an issue. You guys are here pretty early, did you arrest him?"

Lyla had called her attorney, who said to keep him on speed-dial during any conversations with the police, in the event he was needed to tell them to just shut up. Tim didn't like attorneys. He only liked Hannibal, who was way too old to be practicing law now.

It had been Lyla's idea to do the recording. She'd come running up the stairs to the room, telling him what she'd done. Why it had taken forever. He thought Billy was with her, that's why it took so long. He'd been furious for about five minutes that no one had been with her, but he supposed he shouldn't have underestimated his wife.

Lyla had claws, Lyla wasn't a little wallflower, and she could get things done.

And he should have realized, standing in the hospital, watching her leave that she wasn't just going to cave. Lyla didn't do that.

Maybe I do it sometimes, but…in his head he'd have just given him the money to go away. Lyla not only gave him money to go away, recorded him saying he was extorting her for the $100,000 she'd brought him and he'd planned it as payback. He'd get money and he wanted to make sure that he'd messed with Tim, that he'd brought back his dad to throw him off, but that had backfired so he'd had to do something else.

Yeah, try to destroy Sophie, Tim thought, frowning a little at the cops. "You want to talk to my wife? She's with our son, he's an infant." He kept his voice soft, glancing at both of them. "Look I know you probably want to talk to her some more about this, but…we got a house full of people, including a five-year old…"

"Mr. Riggins," Detective Quinn said, shaking his head, frowning a little. "We're not here to talk about the recording your wife left of Jack McConnell extorting you both. We're here to speak to Sophie Riggins."

He stared at them. Sophie? Why…he glanced at the police cruiser parked behind them with rotating red and blue lights. His eyes immediately went to the detectives. "You didn't arrest Jack McConnell," he deduced.

There wasn't a Jack McConnell to arrest.

Evans nodded slightly, his voice quiet. "I'm afraid when we went to the hotel at the tip from Lyla Garrity, we found the hotel empty. We put on an APB on his vehicle and it was located about ten miles from Dillon, headed south…Mr. McConnell was found deceased. The money was missing…we're not sure what happened, but it seemed his car became disabled, he stopped, and someone attacked him and stole the money. The money was gone…we think it might have been a robbery of convenience. We need to officially notify Ms. Riggins, as she is Mr. McConnell's only surviving relative."

She's not legally, Tim thought. That was severed a long time ago. He closed his eyes. Dead. Oh my God. Jack was dead.

He glanced over his shoulder; Lyla was approaching them, holding Max, who was gumming on her finger. "What's going on?" she whispered, emerging in the doorway, stepping out onto the porch, looking up at him.

Silently asking. Her eyes widened slightly, staring at both of the police officers. "Did you arrest Jack? Do you need me to answer more questions?"

Evans cleared his throat, before telling her what he'd just told Tim. Who was still trying to process the information. Jack…dead…

All of this was for nothing, he thought, closing his eyes, releasing a long breath.

The worry, the pain…Sophie wondering what would become of him, if he'd come back somehow into her life again…it was just for nothing.

That wasn't very fair.

He was gone.

"Mr. Riggins?"

He jumped slightly, unaccustomed to being called that. My name is Tim, he thought idly, nodding his head a little, glancing at the cop. "Ah, yeah…um, look can this wait until morning? Sophie was…" I don't even know how to talk right now. He glanced at Lyla, silently beginning. Help me.

Lyla cleared her throat, nodding and whispering, her eyes focused on both cops. "My sister, she's…she hurt herself, she was in the hospital this afternoon and evening, um…Jack showed up here and…it's all in my report at the police station…she really needs her rest if this can wait…"

They both nodded after silently conferring with each other. "We just have a couple questions for the both of you, if you can come down to the station tomorrow morning," Quinn said.

"Of course," Lyla answered.

Yeah, whatever.

He pushed his hand through his hair, shaking. Maybe he was shaking. Things were kind of moving like he was shaking. "Um…how…how did he die?"

The cops exchanged another look. "Blow to the head," Evans answered, reaching to touch at the back of his head, showing him. "Look like he was maybe getting back into the car when someone hit him, grabbed the money and ran. Someone probably just took advantage of him on the side of the road…didn't realize how hard they'd hit him, he was an old man after all."

Or someone was waiting.

Tim said nothing, watching them get into their cars and leave. It was still so damn early, but the sun would be up in a couple hours. He knew there was no way he and Lyla were going to be sleeping.

Sophie needed to rest; he wasn't going to go wake her up.

He turned around, stepping back into the house, Lyla walking ahead of him, holding Max against her chest, her feet silently padding into the kitchen.

We have to tell Sophie.

Tim felt weird.

Like he had a sick feeling in his stomach or all over his body. Kind of like how you felt before you were going to get a cold. That knowing, foreboding feel. He lifted his head up, leaning against the counter. Lyla was holding Max against her with one hand and running the teakettle beneath the faucet.

"How can you make tea right now?" he croaked. He pushed his hands over his face, his eyes closing tight. I cannot believe any of this his happening. Someone needs to make it go away. Needs to fix it and isn't that what you do Garrity? Fix things? "Garrity, talk."

Stop making tea.

Lyla's voice was even; quiet. "I'm not going to raise my voice because we have two other people in this house. Sophie is in the barn and I am not going to raise my voice because I am holding an infant in my arms. I am making tea, because Tim, sometimes I need to think and I have to do something." She shot him a dark look, her voice dropping, warning. "And right now I have to do something."

Okay, fine, geez, just asking.

He closed his eyes.

Walt.

Where in the living hell was Walt when this happened? He hoped the cops zeroed in on him. Knowing Walt he was at a bar somewhere. He shook his head, breathing for a second, until his breath caught in his throat.

"What's going on?"

He turned quickly, seeing Tyra stepping out of the den, closing the pocket door behind her. He dropped his gaze to the floor, shaking his head quickly. "Nothing." His eyes lifted back up. She was staring at him. Giving him that 'shrink look.'

"Sophie's father was killed they think it was a robbery," Lyla said, her voice quiet. She gestured to the teapot, smiling. "I'm making tea."

Tyra just stared at the both of them, crossing her arms over her chest, tugging her robe tight around her. She just blinked a few times, like she honestly couldn't believe she was hearing these things. Tim was sure the words she said next were not what he was expecting.

"Lyla you scare me. You're making tea?"

"Orange Pekoe."

Oh my God my wife probably has body parts hidden in the backyard, Tim thought, closing his eyes. He knew it was her coping mechanism. Pretend it didn't happen. They had more alike than either of them realized sometimes, when it came to big things happening.

"I'm going to put him back upstairs," she whispered, carrying Max out of the room. She smiled at the both of them. "Take the kettle off when it whistles."

Tim sank onto one of the barstools. He hung his head on his hand, his other draping over his knee. This was insanity.

He had to tell Sophie she was officially an orphan. Not that it mattered to her; Jack hadn't been her father her entire life, but he knew she'd be hurt. The two people who basically created her were gone. It was…he didn't know how she was going to react.

How could he tell her this? There was no answer to it.

I have to get out of this house. He didn't say anything to Tyra, slipping off the stool and walking out the backdoor, stopping about halfway to the barn, turning and staring at his 'brooding place.' He wanted to go sit in it, but Lyla didn't like that. She didn't like the memories it held with Tyra. He sometimes wondered if she got a little jealous.

Probably. And then she'd make herself a cup of tea after she killed him because of it.

"She doesn't like you and me hanging out there, I'd stay away."

Tim turned quickly, seeing Tyra approach him, her arms still wrapped around her. He glanced down at her, frowning a little at her stomach. Lately she seemed like she'd put on a few. He pointed, but she just lifted an eyebrow, as though daring him to point out she'd gained a few pounds. He said nothing, lifting his eyes back to her. "Okay."

"Tim, you need to be very careful when you tell her. Right now she's going through a lot of trauma with respect to her injury. What it might mean for her dance career. The father she never knew just terrified her to the point of reinjuring herself and now he's dead after extorting the only parents she's ever known for money or else he'd spread vicious lies about her and them…" Tyra paused, shaking her head, whispering. "This is important that you do it properly and don't charge in there."

Yeah, he figured. Sophie was right on the road for a nervous breakdown. Career stalled because of injury, relationship drama with Noah Street whatever it might be, and her estranged father returned to blackmail her and her family. Now he was dead.

He glanced at Tyra. She should probably know. Todd, her husband, was an attorney. Entertainment lawyer for celebrities, but still. He ran his tongue over his teeth, stepping a little closer to Tyra.

Tyra arched an eyebrow. "I'm married Tim, take a step back."

"Yeah, so am I, stop it," he warned, not in the mood for her strange humor. He closed his eyes, sighing. "Can you call Todd, just…in case we need…someone."

She immediately stiffened, her back straightening and her voice cool. "Tim Riggins you promised you wouldn't break the law ever again. Now I know you've gone through probably one stop sign since then, but this…"

"I didn't do anything," he interrupted. He rolled his eyes. "I was with Sophie at the hospital when this thing had to have happened. By the way, nice to know you have confidence in me." It was just precaution. That feeling wasn't gone; he trusted his feelings, they tended to be spot on. He pushed his fingers through his hair.

I want to run away. All his instincts wanted him to just run away. I can't do that, could never do that though…he needed to protect them. Just like he did Sophie when Jack reared his ugly head the first time, during the custody trial.

"Do the cops know that Jack was awful?" Tyra whispered. She moved a little closer to him, resting her fingers on his shoulder. He shrugged. She continued, like she didn't feel the shrug. "Do they know that he was in jail for defrauding the government and his patients and that Anne had restraining orders against him and ensured he'd never get Sophie?"

She was thinking like a lawyer right now, he thought briefly.

He shrugged. I don't know. This is only just beginning. They probably hadn't even completely run his entire record yet. Or maybe they did. He wasn't a cop, he didn't know.

Tyra continued, her eyes wide on his. "Do they know that he came to the house when Sophie was here? That he threatened to tell the judge that you were doing horrible things to her? That he could pay someone to get up there and lie about it? He blackmailed you the first time Tim. I know that the court had those affidavits from you and from Billy and Mindy…but the cops need to know, you have to let them know."

"They'll know," he whispered. He nodded slightly. Of course they'd know, when they talked to them again. "They'll know."

She swallowed hard, reaching to wrap her arm around his neck. "I could only do so much the first time Tim, but I'm here now. I promise, okay? Whatever you need…shrink-wise or not."

"Thank you Dr. Collette-Theroux." He purposefully pronounced the silent 'x' to piss her off. She just rolled her eyes, smiling and kissing his cheek. He gave her another hug. "Thank you."

Tyra nodded quickly, keeping her voice soft. "Tim, does Lyla know about the trial and all that stuff? How bad it really was behind the scenes? I know she's got the paperwork, but…"

"She knows, she…" Tim nodded quickly. He knew Lyla had nothing to do with what happened to Jack, but he also knew that the cops would look into everything. Maybe it would come back to bite them in the ass. But she knew. She knew all of it.

Tyra rolled her eyes, whispering. "Should have known. You never had secrets from her. The key to a healthy marriage, I tell my clients."

"You're a child psychologist."

"Even pretend weddings on the playground can be devastating when they end."

You and your humor. He let go of her, going back up into the house, where the teakettle was whistling. Better remove it or Lyla might kill me. He busied himself with making Lyla's tea, Tyra sitting down at the kitchen table.

Tim looked up over the sink, scanning the backyard to the barn. He had to tell her sooner rather than later. He turned, handing Lyla her mug of tea. He sat down at the table, holding his head in his hands, unable to think about anything else until he got back up, about two hours later, after Tyra had gone back to bed and Lyla had gone to take care of the kids, and saw Noah Street sneaking out the side entrance.

Son of a bitch.

He pushed open the back door, watching Noah hightail it down the driveway. That would be a topic for a later date. Right now, I have to do this, he thought. This wasn't about him. This wasn't about Walt. Or what Jack did or didn't do, this was…this was Sophie.

He jogged up the stairs, knocking lightly on the door. "Soph? Can I come in, I have to talk, it's…." Pretty important.

The door opened before he had a chance to say anything. He glanced over her shoulder, seeing the rumpled bed. There was a pair of socks that were not Sophie's on the floor. He pointed to them. "Tell Noah he's got to practice his escape. This is amateur hour; you never leave socks. I also saw him running down the driveway."

"I really don't need lessons in how to escape from bedrooms, although I'm sure you are the master," Sophie mumbled, closing the door and walking around him; hobbling actually, trying to put as little weight as possible on her booted foot. She rearranged the bed, yawning and sitting at the edge. "It's like six in the morning…what's going on? Were there police here last night, I thought there were lights…"

She stared at him, her eyes wide. "This is about my dad…he…you arrested him?"

Not really.

"Take a seat." How did you do this? He supposed it was like the first time, when Anne died, although…he could probably be more blunt. He sat down on the couch, looking across the small apartment to Sophie, who was on the bed. He gestured beside him. I need you next to me. "Can you sit here please?"

"You know we've had way too many of these serious talks in the last two weeks," Sophie said, hobbling back to sit beside him. She leaned over her knees, her hazel eyes wide on his. She bit her lower lip, nervous. "Can you just…just tell me?"

Tim took a deep breath. Just say it. Just tell her. He closed his eyes, whispering.

Blurt it out.

"The police came this morning. Jack died last night. They think it might be robbery. Lyla's money is gone."

There I said it.

Sophie said nothing.

She just kind of froze.

He launched quickly into reassuring her, his hand covering her wrist. "We're on this Sophie, okay? They want to talk to you, but you don't have to say anything, Lyla was there and she gave him money and…and something happened afterward and…look Sophie, it'll be okay…"

"He's dead?"

God, your voice is so small.

It also forced him to take a deep breath; he got a flashback to when he told Sophie about Anne, sitting there on the step in front of the house. Where will I sleep, she'd asked. In this tiny, tiny little voice.

It killed him that to a five-year old, when told that your mother was gone and never coming back, her question was where she would sleep. It was just how her mind worked at the time.

Not it was whether it was true or not.

He nodded quickly. "Yeah, he…he's dead."

"He came back, tried to blackmail us, awfully I might add, and so Lyla gave him money, she tried to have him arrested, but they couldn't…because he was dead?" Sophie shook her head, staring at him, her eyes wide. They weren't filled with tears, yet. She blinked. "That's it?"

Tim nodded; what are you thinking, kid? "Yes. That's it." In so many words.

"Okay." Sophie slumped backwards in the couch, her eyes closing. She reached her hands up, scrubbing at her face. She leaned forward, her hair falling around her like a waterfall curtain.

Constantly moving. It was the one difference between the two of them. He preferred solitary quiet. Sophie was always moving and needed noise.

He heard a sound. She was crying. Oh God. "Sophie," he whispered, reaching to cover her shoulder, but she whipped her head back. He jumped away, at the risk of getting hit by her and stared at her reaction.

Not crying. Laughing.

Sophie laughed, shaking her head. She covered her mouth with her hands, laughing again. It surprised her. She was surprised by her reaction, her eyes wide at the sounds. She let her hands fall, laughing out again. "He's dead? My biological father comes back, years and years after leaving my life, just to stir up trouble and drag yours back into your life and generally be a pain in our ass, threatens to hurt us, takes money, and now he's dead because he hit his head?"

I guess.

In so many words.

She reached for him, framing his face in her hands. "I know you think I'm insane, but Tim, this is absurd! This is just…I can't think right now."

That makes two of us.

Tim followed her with his gaze as she got up, reaching for her crutches and hobbled to the kitchenette. She began to busy herself with making coffee. After she poured the carafe of water into the reservoir, he saw her hand fall before she did, the glass pot crashing into the skin as she leaned forward; her shoulders slumped.

Now she wasn't laughing.

He got up, walking over and helped her to the bed, where she laid down on her side, sobbing uncontrollably. Tim rubbed her shoulder, like he did when she was sick as a kid. "I'm here," he whispered. "I'm here."

Sophie choked a few times, reaching to cover her face with her hand. "I don't know why," she cried, sitting up a little, staring at him. "I didn't even like him! I didn't care…care about him…you're my dad, you know?"

I know. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight, his cheek against the top of her hair, her face pushed into his shoulder, still crying. He rocked her gently, stroking her shoulder. It'll be okay; this will all blow over.

It was just yet another bump in the road…he hoped.

She hiccupped, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of his t-shirt. "You know," she mumbled, resting her head against his again. "I wanted it to be like Anne. Deep down, you know? Wanted him to come back and be all…surprise Sophie! I'm not a terrible human. I love you and I want to be your dad…not that I don't…love…"

He smiled, nodding in understanding. Just like he thought she'd feel. "I miss Mom so much, I just…I just wish he died instead of her, she…I just miss her," she mumbled. She wiped her eyes once more. "Can you sit with me Tim? I just want to sit here, I don't want to go outside yet."

I'll stay with you as long as you need. I'm always here for you little sis.

Tim wrapped his arm tight around her shoulders, his cheek against her head, and his eyes closed. I love you so much Sophie. So freaking much. Like my kids. Exactly like my kids.

"What about your dad?"

Huh?

Sophie tilted her face up, wiping her fingers under her nose. She looked so much younger, like she did as a child, with her big hazel eyes and the hair pushed back from her heart-shaped face. "What about your dad and this, you know? Are they going to talk to him? I mean…what are you going to do?"

Tim sighed. He hadn't thought that far ahead. Not really. "Don't worry about it kid."

She paused, waiting a beat. Her voice was barely audible; somewhat accusing. "You're protecting me again."

Yeah, I am. Sorry about that, it's going to happen all the time. No matter what I might have told you. Maybe I just wont invade in your private life as much, that's the best I can do.

He shrugged. C'est la vie kid, I'm going to protect you.

"It's okay," she mumbled. She smiled a little. "I love you anyway."

That's my little sister.

"I love you too." Tim closed his eyes, rocking with her until she fell asleep again.

And he still held her, not wanting to get up and have to face this just yet.

Maybe he was still trying to run away.


	18. Lyla Takes Control

**A/N**: There are only a few more chapters left, enjoy! Thanks for the reviews :)

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**Chapter 18: Lyla Takes Control**

Lyla shouldn't have been surprised, but she was, when the police dismissed her and Tim after a few days from the station, along with Sophie, saying they'd be in touch with further questions, but right now they were done. All their alibis checked out.

She had Tyra contact Landry, who called his dad, who got some information from them that the police wanted to write it off.

Some of their questions were kind of leading; she suspected they wanted to just push it under the rug, not because they couldn't figure it out, but because of the resources and everything. It was Dillon. You didn't get killed in Dillon, but this was a drifter into the city, someone causing trouble, and well, Dillon had turned into this quaint little Texas town with a really good bar and restaurant, a bunch of football mecca type of vibes, as well as the hometown for two NFL stars. People who liked that stuff wanted to see it.

Almost a week had passed. They'd talked to everyone, anyone with any connection to Jack McConnell. She'd held off on going to find Walt, but…her stomach sank. She'd seen a truck pull into the parking lot after she did, but…she didn't think that much about it. She just didn't know.

She'd told them. Tell the truth, she'd been told, and she didn't want trouble. They said they'd look into it. Apparently Walt's alibi checked out too.

It seemed far too coincidental to be an accident.

Tim needed to talk to Walt again.

Billy told her he was done; he didn't want anything to do with Walt; Mindy didn't care, she said she wasn't getting involved in Riggins Brothers drama.

Well, it's always me anyway. I always have to get involved.

Maybe I am trying to make things better, but right now, I don't care. Right now my husband is hurting, my sister-in-law/pseudo-daughter is injured and wondering about her future prospects workwise and love-life wise, and now I have this ridiculous death thing threatening it all.

We were happy.

And we are going to damn well be happy again.

Lyla was not going to stand by and let Tim be in denial, Sophie mope around feeling sorry for herself, and Tyra just watched it all, taking notes and trying to do what she could, but Sophie wasn't willing to talk out loud to Tyra and Tim would rather eat glass than let Tyra try to shrink his head.

So here she was, sitting in her Lexus, nibbling her thumbnail, waiting. She'd left Max with Tyra; it felt kind of like she was missing her arm. She sat up in the Lexus. Come on, is that…yes, it was him. The door finally opened from the motel.

Pushing at her car door, she climbed out, walking towards Walt. Let's get this over with. "Walt," she called out, the name foreign on her lips. She ignored her sweating palms. "I need to talk to you."

He turned quickly, surprised. "Lyla," he exclaimed. He glanced immediately to the Lexus, clearly hoping someone else was with her. His face fell in disappointment, his jaw setting.

Nope, just me. You're going to have to deal with it.

"Just me," she confirmed, her arms over her chest. Lyla took a deep breath. Get this over with. She closed her eyes, her lips pursed. Now that she was here, the words kind of flew away from her. She sighed, finally opening her eyes and lifting them to him. Take it easy. Don't spook him.

"You know," she began. "I've been thinking these past few days…a lot's happened, but…I haven't told Tim, okay?"

I haven't told him what I've been thinking, which pains me. She shook her head, whispering. "And that hurts, okay? I know you probably don't understand that, but it physically hurts me to keep things from him. I won't tell him…you're going to have to tell him, but…I've been thinking about what happened to Jack."

Walt glanced around, lifting an eyebrow. He played dumb. "What about him?"

She pursed her lips, waiting a second, keeping her voice low. A lot about him; actually. "I saw Jack, gave him money, and left. I got to the police station about thirty minutes later and didn't leave until well after two hours. Sometime in that time he managed to make it out of Dillon, stop his car, and was hit in the back of the head and the money stolen…robbery, they're saying."

Walt had an alibi; he was with some friends of his at a bar. Lyla wondered if those alibis were bought, but she had no proof.

He shrugged, whispering. It was a very Tim-like move he just did. "So?"

"So," she said, looking him straight in the eye. She shrugged, whispering. "I'm thinking that…well I don't quite know what to think Walt. I think there was someone else there."

"Why's that?" Walt asked. He narrowed his eyes, his lips twisting in a smile. "They find fibers or hairs or something like that old TV show? Did they match a footprint using some magical database?"

Tim was a lot like Anne, but the sarcasm clearly came from his father. Lyla smiled, crossing her arms tighter. "No, they didn't find any of that. What they can't explain is how someone just walking by would see all that money, but…Jack was no stranger to enemies who could have followed him, so they're turning elsewhere." She sighed, shaking her head. "It'd just be real nice to know where you were."

There. I said it. I just accused you.

Walt just blinked. He shrugged. "Well sweetheart, I was in Laribee visiting some friends."

"Friends that can be bought?" she whispered.

They stood off, almost toe-to-toe, for a good minute, until he finally smiled, long and slow. "Do you really want to know Lyla?"

No. No she didn't. She didn't want to know anything at all.

I don't even know why I'm here.

The sudden…pointlessness of her visit hit her. He wasn't going to admit to anything; she didn't want to really even know…she didn't care about the money. Tim didn't care.

It would hurt Tim more.

Walt looked around, leaning back against the closed door of the motel room. He smiled, his eyes downcast, sad. Very, very sad. "You know…I told Tim and I'll tell you. I was a terrible father, but…when you get old…when you're lying there in a hospital bed with your chest cracked open and the doctor telling you it's from smoking and drinking and generally being a terrible human being your whole life, you tend to think of things."

Buddy said pretty much the exact same thing, when he had his heart attacks. Lyla nodded her head slightly, silently encouraging him to continue, when it looked like he might not say anything at all.

Damn Tim, I wish you could hear him say this.

"And yeah, I loved my boys, but I did a shit job of it," he continued. He smiled sadly. "Had anger issues, drinking issues, no excuse though…I stopped drinking, cleaned my life up, but…just wasn't cut out for a father and…it all came back when Timmy did…and yeah, so…Timmy still could probably do better for himself, could get out of Dillon…"

Oh no, don't go there.

Lyla snapped. "Tim is doing fine for himself in Dillon. More than fine." She arched her eyebrow further, almost embedding itself in her hairline. Was there a point to this? She pursed her lips tighter, waiting for him to continue, which he did.

He reached into his pocket, removing a pack of cigarettes. She scowled; for someone who claimed to have had open-heart surgery, he sure didn't seem like he wanted to care for himself. "I don't smoke it," he said, removing a single cigarette. He twirled it around in his fingers. "I carry one always, to remind me not to smoke it. Although I damn well want to, every single day, you know addicts."

Oh I know them. Addicted to just about anything, she knew them.

"I married an addict," she breathed.

"Then you know."

Yes, I know all too well the perils of loving addicts. Of living with them. She swallowed hard, shifting her weight on her shoes. "So why are you still here? You could have just left after you warned us off of Jack. Why stay?"

He frowned, staring at her, giving her a 'duh' look. "I wanted to see Tim."

She sighed. That was just going to make his life more miserable. "Walt, he doesn't…"

"I know he doesn't want to see me," Walt said, closing his eyes. He sighed again, kicking his foot on the pavement. "I did wrong as a father, I want to try to at least…see him before I leave. I don't intend on staying. I heard about Anne coming back, I don't want to be back for good."

He sighed, looking at the sunlight, faraway. Again, a Tim-like move, she thought. "I just want to see my son, okay? I don't want to stick around anymore than I did the first time, I'm not sorry about that."

Clearly. Lyla ran her tongue over her teeth, shrugging. They could maybe work this out so the smallest number of people got hurt. She tossed her hair from her eyes. "I can't let you see the kids, he's not going to want that."

He perked up a little. Yes, you know where I'm going, she thought, frowning. Why do I get sucked into this stuff? She closed her eyes, whispering. "I can talk to him. Can get him to meet you. Other than that, you're on your own. If he says no, he says no. The kids…no, he won't go for that."

"That's fine, I just…just want to see him. I'm sorry for what I've done, bringing…that man here," Walt said, speaking quietly. He glanced down at the asphalt, kicking it again, barely audible. "He wanted to do more, but…I wouldn't go for it."

What more did he want to do?

He read her mind, speaking the answer. "He wanted me to get close to Tim, to Sophie. He wanted it to go longer. Like a con. So it hurt more. Said it was to get back at Tim. Then it didn't…I didn't…no. Couldn't do it so he had to do it on his own. Which was why it was so…poorly done."

Probably spoken like a true blackmailer, Lyla figured. She didn't want to think of Jack right now. That was slowly getting pushed behind them. She just wanted to start picking up the pieces.

And right now one of the big pieces was Tim's father.

She cleared her throat, staring straight at him. "Come by the house…tomorrow. Give me some time with my husband."

He quirked his lip again, whispering, slightly amused. "Husband. My son is actually a husband."

"Pretty good one too," she said, smiling slightly. She shrugged her shoulders; must have been a shock for him to see that Tim had changed as much as anyone else could. It was clearly enough for him to change his mind, to give up a ton of money, to…to send Jack on his way.

Whether that was literally or figuratively.

She bit down on the bottom of her lip. "You know he was always a good person. Just damaged." Lyla shrugged; she had nothing to lose here. Walt wouldn't hurt her, she was sure of it. She was standing in front of one of the two reasons why Tim was who he was. The other was long gone, but she'd come to terms with it.

And Walt was just standing there, telling her to her face that he was a crap father, knew it, and wasn't going to change that. Still thought Tim wasn't much of anything. Clearly he didn't want forgiveness.

The best thing he'd done as a father was send Jack away.

After he brought him back, of course.

She cleared her throat, twisting her wedding ring around on her left hand. "Tim's been through a lot in his life. He's managed to overcome so much, through no help of you…he's a good guy, he's always been a good guy. Yeah, he makes stupid decisions sometimes. I've been married to him for seven years and he's done some really dumb things."

Walt smiled a little. "He never really thought things through anyway. His mom used to say his heart was too big."

The funny thing with that comment, while Lyla thought it was an accurate assessment of Tim, was that she thought it was one of his biggest assets, one of the reasons why she loved him. Walt was saying it because he saw it as a weakness. She closed her eyes, continuing. "Well, that's not going to change. What did change is that he can come to you and tell you to leave. He's not going to be affected by you anymore. You say you're surprised he's a good husband…well maybe he's surprised too because it wasn't like he had a good example."

"And after Anne returned, I think he worried about you coming back, but…Tim doesn't worry for very long." Lyla frowned, her fingers stilling on her ring. She cleared her throat again. "I love him and I love my children and if you just leave without another word, I think he's going to…to regret that one day. You both need closure. I'll be in touch when you can come by."

She turned around, walking out from beneath the awning in front of the door, dropping her sunglasses down to her face. She turned, glancing through the tinted lenses towards him, still watching her, silent. "I don't know what you did with Jack," she said, keeping her voice down again, in case someone else listening in one of the other rooms.

Just say it Lyla.

She licked her lips. "But you brought that mess into our lives for the last two weeks…if you cleaned it up that's your business, but make sure that we're out of it, if it ever comes back."

Lyla left Walt standing there, getting back into her SUV and driving off. Her hands were shaking. She drove silently through Dillon, stopping in front of the old building in 'downtown', climbing out and going inside and up the stairs right at the entrance of the door.

I need to see him.

She stepped inside, seeing a couple of potential clients waiting, glancing over at the desk. Becky was stapling paperwork together, dropping it into files. "Hey," she called, walking towards her. "Tim's here?"

"Yeah, he's got clients though," Becky said, glancing at the appointment book in front of her. She shrugged, reaching for a pencil. "You can go on in though, I'll take care of it, just don't be too long."

And Becky was a tyrant when it came to running the office, so if she were too long, Lyla would know. Practically ran the business, Lyla thought. She'd shown her the ropes, when she first came onboard, finally leaving once the Garrity Corporation expanded and she had to take a stronger role in the business, even from Dillon.

Don't worry; this probably won't be that long.

Lyla opened one of the old fashioned doors leading from the waiting area into a small little antechamber. There was a file room off to one side, an empty office she used from time to time, and then Tim's office. She walked towards it, smiling at the frosted pane, with the gold etching. The office building was a former railroad office, from the 1800s.

She'd tried to keep it in that vein, when she convinced Tim to set up a home base that wasn't in the house or his truck. The gold spelled out his name and beneath 'Owner.' She knocked lightly, opening it up and stepping inside.

The large desk she'd got at an auction served sometimes as Tim's bed. Which it was right now, with him stretched almost completely across it, napping. "Hey," she said, closing the door with a rattle. He didn't move.

She walked over around the desk, taking in his sleeping state for a brief moment. When he slept, he kind of reminded her of Max. His arms were just flung forward over the desk, his head turned slightly. His lashes dusted his cheek, but even in sleep he looked stressed, the faint lines in the corners of his eyes standing out, and his brow almost furrowed.

I don't want to wake you up, but I have to. He hadn't been sleeping at all the last couple weeks. She lightly touched his shoulder, stepping behind him and leaning against his back, whispering. "Hey, wake up," she whispered, kissing his cheek. "Come on, wake up."

He stirred a little, blinking and sitting up slowly, reaching to scrub his face. He narrowed his eyes, peering up at her. "Hey," he mumbled, his voice scratchy. "What's up?" He didn't wait for her to say anything, shaking his hand through his hair, gesturing to the phone, yawning. "Cops called."

Oh? She walked around the desk, sitting against it, glancing down at the floor. She figured since neither of them was being arrested, it was ruled accidental. Or at least, they weren't suspected in it at all. "And?"

"Probably the quickest investigation ever. Robbery gone wrong, person just…out of here. Said they'd give you some forms for the insurance company on the money. They're closing it down, they…" he tapped his fingers on the desk, whispering, looking off into space. "They gotta' release the body, so…Sophie's…she said she'd do it."

I'll pay for it; I just want this over with, she thought. She closed her eyes. Poor Sophie. She'd just been wandering the three days. At least Noah was here, but she wasn't sure that was helping. Each time Sophie looked at Noah, it was like she was getting stabbed.

I know something about that, Lyla thought, glancing towards Tim. He'd leaned back in his chair, his arms folded behind his hair, looking out the window beside him. She cleared her throat, whispering. "I…I went to see Walt." Best get this over with now.

His eyes slowly slid towards her. Said nothing.

I'm sorry, she thought, knowing he probably felt betrayed. I had to see him. She continued, knowing he wouldn't say a word. "He's still in town and I thought…thought before we put this whole thing behind us…Jack's return and his and…that he come to the house. Talk to you. I think it will be good."

"So," she continued, keeping her eyes focused on him. He still hadn't moved from where he was looking out the window. She closed her eyes. "I told him that he could come by tomorrow evening. To the house. I think you need to talk to him, Tim. I think that once you talk to him, this will all be over."

And we can finally be happy again.

I'm just trying to help, that's all I'm trying to do, because I don't know what else I can or should do. She didn't hear him say anything, still sitting. Come on Tim, she silently begged, her fingers tightening around the desk. Don't hate me.

He shifted in the chair, the squeaking echoing loudly in the room. "You…" he trailed off, chuckling. "You shouldn't have done that."

"I'm your…"

"Yeah my wife," Tim snapped, staring at her. She stared back. They could fight about this for the rest of their lives, but Lyla wasn't interested in fighting. He shook his head, whispering. "I don't want him…"

"Near the kids, I told him. I said that he could see them, but that was it. He's not to have a relationship with them." She licked her lips, whispering. Focused. Hoping he would get it without her saying anything. "He has something to tell you. About Jack. He's remorseful Tim, for bringing him here and I think he can also apologize to Sophie. I think it would be good."

Sophie.

Tim closed his eyes, leaning forward and scrubbing his face. "God," he mumbled. He waited a beat. "I just want this over."

"I know." That's what I'm trying to do. I'm trying to make it over faster. As the only on here who is…who is impartial, she supposed, she was trying to do that much.

He leaned back, meeting her eyes again, whispering. "He's no different, Garrity. Might have had some grand white light moment a couple years back about his life, but…he's not stupid. He's not Anne."

No, he wasn't Anne.

"He doesn't want money," she said. That was good. "He doesn't want anything Tim. All he did was make a stupid, stupid mistake and he's sorry for it and he wants to apologize to you. I think you should hear him out. Sophie should hear him out, and then he'll leave and we can heal."

Nothing would be normal again. Not the way it was before.

She got up from the desk, stepping towards him and carefully lowering herself into his lap, her arms wrapping around his neck and her head resting against his. He hugged her close, his hand resting comfortably over her stomach. She drew her knees up a little, letting him just hold her. Lyla closed her eyes. I wish I could make this all go away.

It wouldn't be better. You needed the pain sometimes, to remind you that you were human. That you could change, but…Tim really didn't need anymore pain. "Thank you for coming back," he whispered, after a few minutes of comfortable silence. He held her tighter, waiting a moment before speaking again. "And I'll talk to him. Just talk."

Thank you. She closed her eyes, not wanting to get into their other topic of conversation. Sophie. "I think we should get Sophie to talk to someone," she said. The poor girl had been through so much in two weeks. Lyla wasn't sure if she even fully realized the extent of what she'd gone through, she just seemed to be happy, walking around in her boot, talking about how she would be going back to London in two weeks, she'd recover there, she'd go through her rehab there.

Not once did she mention Noah or the Broadway offer or anything.

"I'll call Mrs. Taylor."

I was thinking more like Tyra, but Mrs. Taylor was an excellent choice. She nodded, brushing her nose over his. "I love you," she whispered, her hand reaching to cup his face, running her thumb over his lower lip, watching him. She smiled a little. Her voice was husky when she spoke, quiet and reflective. "You make me happy."

His eyes softened a little, crinkling in the corners as he smiled. "That's what you said when we got married," he breathed, cocking his head a little. "It's not something you forget."

Yes, my vows. She'd spent forever on them, only to chuck them the morning of the wedding and scribble what she really wanted to say on a cocktail napkin, pulling it out of her bouquet, crumpled and the ink staining her hands.

_I thought about what to say for the last couple months and I had quotes about love and devotion and waiting for the right one and the right time, but…that doesn't matter. What matters is Tim, is that I love you. You make me happy. You make me happy and that's what matters. I promise to try to make you as happy as you make me. I love you, you're my family, and you're my home and I promise to be all those things to you too. Forever._

She smiled, drifting her fingers along the buttons of his shirt, dancing over his heart. "Do you remember what you said?" she laughed, remembering the next moment, her face dropping to his neck.

Tim grinned. "Of course. I said that it wasn't Finding Nemo, but it would do."

"I can't believe you remembered that, even I didn't remember the Finding Nemo wedding vows!"

"Mindy threw a dinner roll at my head later." He frowned up at her. "And how can you forget Finding Nemo wedding vows? Not like you hear it all the time."

Lyla laughed, but it faded a moment later, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, gripping tightly. No. His vows were just as simple. All he said was that she made him happy too and he loved her, he'd protect her, and damnit, ten years later was long enough, so they had a lot to make up for in the next ten years and he couldn't wait.

She glanced at her fingers in his shirt, watching the light play off the diamond on her left hand. It was a single diamond, flanked by two sapphires and two other diamonds. It started off as a single diamond. Tim took it, added the sapphires for him and for Sophie. He'd taken it again, after Max was born, and added the diamonds, for Annie and for Max.

She lifted her eyes back to his, her brow wrinkling. "I hope I've at least lived up to those vows Tim. Especially now, with all this going on. I just…I'm just trying and I think if he comes to see you and talk to you…we can put this behind us faster."

I'm just trying to be there without being too much.

He smiled, his hand going to her face, bringing it down to his so he could kiss her forehead. "You don't have to ask Garrity. You always are."

Thank you.

She rested her head against his, closing her eyes and breathing shakily for a few seconds. I have to go, you do have to work. "I'm going to go find Sophie, maybe we can go find Mrs. Taylor today."

"She's at the high school, working."

Then we'll drop by there, if I can convince Sophie.

Lyla climbed off his lap, taking her car keys from where they'd fallen out of her pocket and walked to the door, her hand on the knob, turning slightly, smiling. "I'll see you later. Good luck with your next client."

Tim rolled his eyes. "Strip mall, you know I hate doing commercial work."

"So say no."

"It's just a job." He walked out with her, giving her a smile goodbye. She returned it, saying bye to Becky, who just waved. Becky was never her biggest fan, even after all this time. Thankfully she'd gotten over some of her more aggressive dislike and it was just a mutual understanding.

Lyla left the office, driving back to the house, finding Tyra with the kids in the back, Annie in her treehouse, singing at the top of her lungs. She could barely understand. Meanwhile, Max was on one of his mats, lying on his back and looking up. He was less of a lump now; was starting to show a lot more personality.

He'd recently become obsessed with his feet, which usually were to be found in his mouth as he tried to chew on his toes. Socks were gone within seconds as he tried to play with them. He'd been rolling from side to side and could hold his head completely up.

It constantly amazed her how fast babies grew and learned. Three weeks ago Max was just…a baby who ate all the time and occasionally smiled, but now he was starting to focus more. Right now he was staring at Tyra, his mouth moving up and down, like he was trying to talk to her.

And Lyla just stood aside, amused, as Tyra talked back. I should record this for posterity, she thought, smiling. She stepped up onto the porch, Tyra instantly stopping her conversation, whipping her head sideways. "I was just entertaining him," she blurted out.

Sure, of course. Lyla knelt down on the porch, making a happy face at Max, whose eyes lit up. "Hey there big guy," she cooed, blowing kisses on his tummy. He shrieked, kicking his feet up. She sat up, leaving him to entertain himself again, glancing at the treehouse, where Annie was hanging out the window, yelling for her.

"Mommy, Sophie is in the barn, she won't come out and play with me!"

"Well honey, Sophie hurt her ankle, she can't climb up a tree!"

"I don't care, I want to play." Annie disappeared back into the treehouse, singing again.

Lyla left Tyra to Max; she really wondered if the other woman would change her mind on having kids; she was so good with them. Topic for conversation on another day. She headed to the barn, walking inside and finding Sophie at the barre. She sighed. "Sophie, you need to be careful."

"I am careful," Sophie said, putting her weight on her good foot, lifting her leg up, the boot hanging in the air. She sighed, lowering it back down. "I have to condition what muscles I have that are good, keep my core up, that sort of thing." She glanced over her shoulder. "So what's up?"

She glanced around, not seeing Noah anywhere. Sophie met her eyes in the mirror, whispering. "Noah is helping his grandparents move houses. He'll be here later."

After a few minutes of quiet, Lyla approached her, leaning against the barre, whispering. "I think that maybe Sophie…you should talk to someone. Like Mrs. Taylor…she's really good at helping, believe me."

Sophie glanced at her, turning her head again. "I don't need to talk to anyone."

Yes you do, you just don't know it.

She cleared her throat, tossing her hair from her eyes. "The police believe that Jack's death was a robbery gone wrong. They're going to leave it…unsolved, I guess. They're going to release the body and…I heard you're going to take it."

"I'm sending it to Houston, where he was living, he has a nephew," Sophie mumbled, stretching backwards, her arm over her head. The long, lithe curve of her body was practically perfect, barely trembling as she straightening back up. "They can take care of him there."

It's still a lot to deal with. Lyla shook her hand through her hair, scanning the barn. She glanced at the papers on the table, with the stereo system. "Have you given thought to the Broadway thing?"

"No." Sophie stretched down to the ground, her bad leg lengthening sideways. She sighed heavily. "Lyla, as much as I want to talk about the current status of my career and my life, I'd like to just practice. I'll see you later."

And I have been summarily dismissed.

I'm just trying to help you. Lyla walked away from the barre, returning to the door, her hand on it. She waited a second, frowning, and glancing to Sophie, calling out. "You know Sophie, you are part of this family. You always have been. I love you and Tim loves you, but you have got to stop feeling sorry for yourself because it isn't you. It's got to stop. We love you and we will always be here for you, no matter what, but you are brilliant in anything you do. You can sing, you can dance, and you can do anything your mind sets to, even if that means you can't get your dream job…and as for Noah, you have a guy who seems to just worship the ground you walk on and I have barely seen the two of you together, but that's how strong it comes across when he is around you."

She paused, pushing open the door, waiting another moment and turning her head, seeing Sophie had paused; was looking at her in the mirror. "You are Sophie Riggins. You are a Riggins. You can do whatever you want and we'll be here for you no matter what."

There was nothing else left to say, as harsh as she seemingly was. She didn't know what else she could possibly say. So she left.

And let the door slam shut behind her.


	19. Sophie's Non-Goodbye

**Chapter 19: Sophie's Non-Goodbye**

Noah what in the world am I going to do with you?

Sophie lay on the bed, her head propped on her hand, watching him sleep. He was a hoarder; he completely took the covers, the pillows, and stretched out on the bed. Many times she'd woken up with about a half an inch of space, because she didn't like to touch anyone when she slept.

The last two days had been very strange. Tim came home from work, the day Lyla kind of blew up at her in the barn, telling her to deal with her crap, which was pretty accurate, and he sat her down and told her that they were ruling it as essentially an unsolved murder, because they had no leads, but it was still a bit soon. They'd keep working it, but the priority had diminished significantly.

Yeah, who wants to work on a case with a deadbeat guy that extorted money from the town's favorite son and daughter? If I were the police I'd do the same thing. She felt terrible. Her stomach actually hurt when she thought about it, but she was just…

Sophie was glad he was dead.

Mom didn't raise me that way. Tim and Lyla didn't raise me that way. Life was important; you never wished someone's life ill will. There was karma in that, Tim told her. He wasn't as religious as Lyla could get; for instance, he never went to church when Lyla went just about every single Sunday. However, Tim Riggins had probably one of the strictest moral codes Sophie had ever encountered.

Not that the competitive and solitary world of professional ballet dancing attracted people with morals. She once met a dancer who put ground glass in her opponent's toe shoe. Always number one, it was one thing she couldn't really get a handle on.

My career is my life right now, but…Sophie closed her eyes. Dancing at the Bolshoi. It was all she'd dreamed of since she was little. She glanced sideways at Noah. Not marrying.

"What am I going to do with you?" she murmured aloud. She climbed out of the bed; it was about time to start waking up. She didn't know what all she had to do today…last night Tim said something about getting her to sit down and talk to Aunt Tami.

I don't want to talk to Aunt Tami. I love Aunt Tami, don't get me wrong, but talking about my feelings is not really my strong suit. I am a Riggins.

Sophie went to the small table covered with music that Mark kept sending her. She had her foot in a bandage, walking on her toes, not putting pressure on her heel. The doctor in London would be the one to tell her yes or no she could dance, so she was trying to just not think of that right now.

In the event she did get cut, she'd be placed out of the ballet for a year. If she couldn't dance after that…Sophie would have to start looking for other options. They could find something else for her to do. Choreograph, art direction…stand-ins…stupid stuff for the bent and broken.

She sat at the table, reaching for her headphones, sticking them in her ears and closing her eyes, listening to the music for "No Regrets." Mark's music was good; he was clearly giving this his all. Only two songs had draft music, this was one.

It was very rock and roll based; he was using a drum machine, but she thought it would sound much better with real drums. "No regrets," she said aloud, more for herself than anything.

"What are you mumbling about?"

Sophie removed the headphones, turning and glancing over her shoulder. Noah was climbing out of bed, doing that thing she hated where she could count his ab muscles when he stretched. She scowled. "Put on a shirt."

He grinned, throwing a balled up sock at her. "What are you gonna' do about it?"

"Shut up."

"You're angry this morning." He came over, dropping a kiss to the top of her head like she was some child. He dropped his hand to her shoulder, whispering. "How are you doing?"

I'm not going to break, stop treating me like I am. For the last week he'd been delicately walking around her. Since her dad died. "My biological father who wanted to extort money from my brother and his wife and he was killed in an apparent act of karma," she announced, reaching for the music, studying it, her eyes scanning. She shrugged, mumbling. "I'll be fine."

Noah removed a bottle of juice from the small dorm-sized fridge in the kitchenette. He came back over to the table, sitting beside her, propping his feet on the bed, which could be reached from the table. He focused his blue eyes on her, waiting.

What do you want me to say?

She lifted her eyebrow, challenging him. "Do you want me to start crying? Since when have I ever started crying about something, Noah Street?"

"Never."

"Exactly."

"You also don't say I love you unless you're prompted," he said, his voice quiet. He glanced up from the bottle of juice, continuing, his eyes not breaking from hers. "And you don't like it when I try to hold your hand in public. God forbid I try to hold you in my arms at night when it's just us in the room. You don't like to talk about your feelings. You prefer anger to any other emotion…Sophie you hurt yourself and might be out of performance level status for a few months, but you haven't considered it. Just that you'll be fine. What if you're not?"

And what if the sky falls down tomorrow? What if we all get hit by asteroids? You can't be afraid of that sort of thing. Sophie shrugged, dropping the music in her hands down to the table. She leaned back in the chair, drawing her knees up, her foot stretched out to the bed. She pursed her lips, waiting a beat. "And what…" she continued, lifting her eyes to his. "Are you trying to say Noah?"

Noah smiled, shrugging his shoulders, whispering. "I'm trying to say that I am in love with you. I'll be here for you no matter what. I love you even if you don't want to hold my hand or say it to me, but…it'd be nice once and awhile if I didn't cater to your career or your life or…I'd like to know what you're so afraid of, Sophie."

I'm not afraid of anything. I'm Sophie Riggins. She bit her lip hard, her eyes closing. I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid. "You're afraid," he whispered, his hand stretching over to touch her hand. She didn't flinch, as much as she wanted to move. He squeezed her hand. "Of getting close, Sophie. I don't know why…you had so much love in your life, even after your mother died. It's not something to fear. My career means as much to me as to you, don't tell me it isn't the same. I have about ten good years in me, okay? With a bum knee I'm probably out exactly at ten."

Her eyes lifted up, blinking. It probably wasn't all that different. Noah laughed, squeezing her hands, leaning in closer. "I know you want the Bolshoi and I was wrong to say it was a pipe dream. I think you can do it if you set your mind to it, but…but giving up so much else…for that? I don't know if that's right."

And what about you, Noah? Would you give up the NFL for me? No, you wouldn't…you wouldn't dare dream of giving up football for a girl. Especially since we are this young. Maybe that did terrify her. She closed her eyes, whispering, her voice cracking. It was hard for her to talk about her feelings, yeah, always had been.

So she really, really tried right now.

"You know," she whispered, wiping at her eyes. Tears had been falling more freely in the last two weeks with her than they ever had in her life. She supposed she was making up for that time. She laughed a little, trying to smile at him, but it was more of a grimace. "I was two when my mom divorced my dad. I never knew him, ever…just as this person she kept me away from and Tim kept me away from and in the last two weeks I know why. I don't feel…feel anything but…" She sobbed, wiping her eyes, staring at his sympathetic expression. She shrugged. "I don't feel anything but…happiness that he's gone. That he can't hurt anyone or try to hurt anyone again."

I don't want to talk, but…God, all these words were just sort of falling from between her lips, stunning her. "I saw that marriage with my mom…it didn't work out with her and…and I saw Tim just…he was so in love with Lyla, you have no idea…each time she came back for Christmas he didn't think I noticed, but I did." She shrugged. It was just so weird to see her brother mope around for a bit. Until he wasn't. He was happy and running around with his life again. There was just a brief period where she knew something was wrong.

"And he just waited. Every girl he brought home, I was terrified she'd be the one, but…he always let them go when it got close. Then Lyla came back and they got married, but they wasted so much time," Sophie said. She bit her bottom lip, shaking her head quickly. "They were so in love but they were teenage sweethearts…Tim met the woman he was going to end up with when he was a kid…it hurt him. It hurt Lyla…it was too much."

Noah smiled, realizing. I knew you would. You're a smart guy. "You didn't want to find the love of your life when you're eighteen," he concluded.

Exactly.

She shrugged; there, I said it. In so many words. She smiled, his image blurring again. It was true. I try not to think about it or acknowledge it, but it's true. "You are," she sobbed, reaching for him, her arms going around his neck, her forehead touching his.

I hate admitting it, but it's true. Why does it have to be you? Why can't it be someone I meet when I'm thirtysomething and I'm done with my career as a professional ballet dancer and I can spend the rest of my time teaching or art direction or something?

He wrapped her up in his arms, kissing her neck, holding her tight. Sophie gripped at the back of his t-shirt, her fingers clenching into her palms. "I can't marry you," she mumbled into his shoulder. That much was certain.

They sat in silence.

Somewhere she heard a door banging shut. Probably from the house. A dog began to bark. She could hear squeals; Annie was probably losing her mind over something. It was about time that everyone would start getting up. They couldn't hide away in the apartment forever.

She pulled back, her forehead touching his again. Her fingers came up, stroking his cheek. I love you. I really do love you. Noah pulled back, his hands framing her face. He seemed so serious; he was frowning, his thumb running over her tears.

What are you thinking, she wondered. She wasn't sure she was up to more talking. Right now she felt exhausted. She sniffed, another tear trickling down her face. It dropped to her hand. She wiped it on the knee of her leggings. "I love you," she whispered.

I can say it.

He smiled, long and slow. The slightly crooked smile she'd fallen in love with, begrudgingly, when she was eighteen years old. "I love you too," he replied. He brushed his nose against hers, whispering into her lips. "And I will wait for you, Sophie. When you've danced at the Bolshoi or the Kennedy Center or wherever you want to dance…I'll be waiting. You can…you can do whatever you want…don't let your foot be the end of the world."

It won't be. I'll make sure of it. Lyla was right. I could do whatever I put my mind to, if I wanted. If I want to take a year off, I can take a year off and come right back. It would be hard…Sophie wasn't a stranger to hard things.

Noah squeezed her hands tight, setting them in her lap. "You think your foot is going to prevent you from doing something you love? Look at my dad."

Crap, that's right. Now she felt like a tool. "Your dad," she whispered.

"My dad was going to have my life," Noah said, smiling a little. He tossed his hair from his eyes, shrugging. He'd clearly told this story before. It was his life, it was all he'd ever known. "And he went down the first game of his senior year, with scouts and…and the whole town watching. He lost everything. He lost his future and he lost his spirit and he lost his best friend and his girlfriend and…and then he got it all back."

He got it all back, that's right. Sophie didn't hear much about this. Lyla did not like to talk about her time in high school; she'd only mentioned it once or twice, to teach her how to deal with bullies. Tim rarely ever told her, even when she was little and asked him over and over how he met Lyla, the real story. She'd gotten it out of Uncle Jason, when she was staying with him and Aunt Erin in New York.

Jason couldn't walk and he got everything he'd lost back, just not the way he expected.

I fracture my foot and here I am crying about the end of my career. It was all-relative, but…she tossed her hair from her face, staring out the window. The sun had been up for a long, long time. I can't believe no one from the house has come looking for me.

She glanced down at their joined hands. "I love you…so much," Noah breathed. He took another deep breath, slowly releasing it. "But you have to do what you want to do Sophie and I love that about you. I love how you're not going to give up. You will have it all. I'll be waiting for you when you finish."

Right now, what do you want, she wondered, asking herself the question. She glanced at the papers scattered along the table. The sheet music and the lyrics. The random dance steps she'd started sequencing out. It wouldn't be real for her until she had people in a studio. Until she heard the actual music. Her job wouldn't start until the workshop began.

Her job.

I love London. I love ballet.

Right now I want to do this.

The Bolshoi will still be waiting.

She reached for his face, pulling him towards her in a gentle kiss. "I love you," she breathed, smoothing her hand against his cheek. I love you Noah. I probably always will, even if it breaks my heart with how scary this is for me to understand.

I love you too, he silently told her; she didn't need to hear the words. She lowered her head again, wondering about her father. It was all over. He was gone. All she had to do was…cope.

There was nothing she could change about his return. Or him. Or her feelings of…of something that was never going to happen. He was never going to come to her the way Anne went to Tim and Billy. She couldn't change that.

It was time to just let go.

My family is already here. My family was always here.

My big brothers.

Sophie got up from her chair, limping to get her boot, shoving it around her foot. This thing wouldn't last forever, she reminded herself, turning and waiting for Noah to finish getting dressed. "When are you going to leave?" she whispered.

"I have to leave tonight."

That didn't surprise her. Season was starting in a week. He had to get back. Noah dropped a kiss to her forehead, stroking her face. "I'll see you soon, Sophie. This isn't goodbye."

No. It was never goodbye.

"I'll call you, when I'm in New York," she said, walking him out of the barn, towards his car. He kept a truck at his grandparents house for when he came to visit them, which was fairly often. She turned, standing outside the door, wishing he'd told her last night that he was leaving.

It was easier this way.

Noah kissed her goodbye. A toe-curling kiss, which had her almost to her knees. She let go of him, her fingers drifting up to touch her lips, and stepping aside to allow him to drive off.

I hate you, she thought idly, watching him drive away. She lifted her hand, waving silently. I don't know why I had to fall in love with you. Or why it had to be now. Why it couldn't be in ten years or twenty…it had to be now.

She didn't turn around when the front door opened, closing quietly behind whoever it was. Sophie listened closely; usually you could tell by the footsteps. These were rather silent. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tyra approach. "Noah's gone?" Tyra asked, her voice soft.

"Not forever, just…" Just until I can figure some things out. She glanced at Tyra, who had her arms around her stomach. She quirked her lip upward. "What are you going to do today?"

Tyra just smiled coyly. "I've got some plans. I'll let you know when I finish…so Noah Street and Sophie Riggins. Wow. I always figured that your brother and Jason would eventually hook up, the way we were all kind of overlapping with each other."

"Ew!"

"They love each other, it's kind of nice to see actually. Not that I've seen either of them together in forever." Tyra smiled again, a little softer this time, knowingly lifting her eyebrow. "You know…I think Tim's still a little annoyed you never told him about Noah."

Yeah, well…too late for that now.

She still hadn't really "officially" told him, just that it was painfully obvious at the moment. Other than the other day, with Noah sneaking out. He'd come back, after she'd called to tell him about her dad. She cried for about an hour, until she had to go to the police station. Noah had been with her through it all.

He probably had to go back to training camp a week ago, but got an extension. Noah could do whatever he wanted; he was the talent for that team.

Tim was going to have to accept it. "I didn't tell him because I thought he'd freak out, he…he's kind of obsessed with protecting me." In a good way. She knew that he would still continue to annoy her with his tendencies, but hopefully he'd gotten the point, from a couple weeks ago, about the importance of her having a life of her own.

Tyra shook her head again, her voice quiet. "When Tim told me that he was going for custody of you, I was stunned…not because I didn't think he could do it, but because…because I'd known this guy since I was five…this guy who would run away from problems and spiral out of control when it got too much, but…but who always managed to come back. It took me or Jason or Lyla or once and a blue moon Billy to bring him away from the edge, but…then you came along."

Then I came along.

"And you saved him as much as he kind of saved you," Tyra breathed. She smiled, her eyes sparkling, and her arms wrapped around herself, swaying lightly on her feet. "You know he's probably going to be a little jealous."

Jealous? Of what? Of Noah? Sophie frowned, glancing up through her lashes at Tyra; they were roughly the same height. "Yeah? Seriously?"

"Oh yeah. You were always looking up to him, now this other guy comes along and you don't really need him that way. You've found what he has with Lyla. He's probably happy for you, but he's also probably subconsciously a little jealous."

Come on, stop shrinking me, Sophie thought with an eyeroll. She dug her good foot into the pavement, mumbling and tossing her hair out of her eyes. "I keep waiting to wake up from these last couple weeks. To find that I'm back in London and…and my foot is fine and Noah and I just…I don't know if I want that to change, but…all this father drama."

"It's been a lot, yeah."

More than a lot.

She ducked her head a little, breathing. "Do you think Tim will be okay? With his dad?" His father was still sticking around. Maybe forever. Maybe for another day. She'd heard Lyla telling Tim that she would call Walt to set up a time.

They did need to talk.

The other woman, she supposed Tyra was sort of her sister-in-law too, but was mostly a really cool aunt, shrugged. "I think Tim has been through a lot, that this is just one more bump for him to deal with." She glanced down, turning around and walking with Sophie back up to the house. "But to answer your question…" Tyra held open the door to the house, grinning. "Yes."

Yeah, that's what I thought too.

Sophie released a long breath, walking into the kitchen, feeling Tim immediately come to wrap his arm around her shoulder. "You okay kid?" he whispered, tugging her against him. "Thought I saw Street Junior leaving."

Yes, Street Junior is leaving. She nodded, smiling quickly up at him. "Yeah." She bit her lip a little, whispering so only he could hear her. "When are you going to see your dad?"

Tim let go of her, shrugging, walking around to the kitchen island. "Tomorrow." He tossed is hair out of his eyes. "Come on, we're making pancakes."

Denial. Change the subject. Seems like I learned from the best.

She sighed, thinking briefly about her…about Jack. Not my father, she thought to herself, seeing Tim grab Annie under his arm, holding her up to help with the pancakes. No. He was not her father.

Sophie pushed away from the wall, going over to help Tim make pancakes.

I don't even need to think about who my real father was. She rose on her good foot, kissing his cheek. "I love you."

Tim glanced down at her and then at Annie, who was mimicking his frown. "Annie, feel Sophie's head, make sure she doesn't have a fever, she just said she loves me!"

"I love you," Annie announced.

"Well good, at least someone around here does." Tim shot her a curious look, but his smile didn't falter. It was good to see that this wasn't affecting him as much as it had when it all began.

She rolled her eyes, flicking a little bit of pancake batter in his direction.

Which meant Annie picked up a handful, dumping it on Tim's shirt.

Sophie shrieked, jumping and trying to get away, but her stupid foot held her back, to get pancake batter in her hair. She grabbed hold of Tim's neck, kissing his cheek. "Thank you," she whispered.

He waited a second, watching her. He understood and kissed her cheek lightly.

"You're welcome."


	20. Tim's Change of Heart

**Chapter 20: Tim's Change of Heart**

"Daddy I want a story."

Tim spit out toothpaste, reaching for the towel to wipe at his mouth, glancing down at his daughter, who was rising on her toes on her pink stool, spitting out her toothpaste into the sink. "Rinse." He handed her a cup of water. She spit out the water. "Wipe." He passed her the towel.

Annie smiled, showing off her sparkling white teeth. "Clean?"

"Let me see." Tim knelt down to her height, turned is head a couple of times, and smiled. "I can see my reflection. Perfectly clean."

"Let me see you." Annie studied his teeth, frowning and grabbing his jaw with her small hands, opening up his mouth, and peering inside. "What's the silver?"

Your hands taste like cookies, ew, Tim thought, removing them from where she was trying to poke inside his mouth. "Fillings. Daddy didn't brush his teeth as a kid, they had to put metal to fill all the holes."

"Ew!"

"Yeah, you keep your teeth clean and you won't get those." The things that concerned little kids; fillings were Annie's greatest fear. He figured that was a good thing. Tim swept her up into his arms, carrying her out of the bathroom, walking into her room and dropping her on her rumpled, more like destroyed, bed. "Okay kiddo, make your bed and we'll go outside."

"I don't know how."

They'd gone over this like 90 times a week. It was a mid-morning tradition now, for him to 'show' her how to make her bed, only to end up making the bed for her because she just didn't want to do it. He sighed, pulling the covers up, tucking them beneath the pillows. "Why do we have to do this?" she wondered, fluffing her pillow.

Because your mother says it builds character. I don't know. "I don't know," he answered truthfully. "So it's neat, I guess." He blamed Lyla. "Plus your Momma says we have to do it so we do it." She made a face with wide eyes, silently saying 'I know, right?!'

"I don't like neat." Annie collected her stuffed animals, setting them at the headboard. "My bed," she announced, climbing up the pink wooden steps he'd built her so she could reach the high bed.

She flopped backwards, staring up at the canopy, with its underside printed with clouds. "Daddy." Uh-oh. She was being serious. Never good.

"What's up?" he asked, sitting beside her. He reached to feel her forehead. Her cheeks were a little flushed, but they generally were. That morning she'd been a little quiet; maybe she was getting a cold. No fever, good. He smiled down at his daughter. "You okay?"

Annie nodded quickly, hugging one of her stuffed animals to her, watching him. She smiled again, her eyes sparkling. "Are you sad Daddy?"

Out of the mouths of babes.

He frowned a little, his fingers folded over his stomach, lying beside her on the pink castle bed. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see one of her giant stuffed horses staring at him. All he wanted to do was trash those things, they completely freaked him out, but they were gifts from people when she was born, so they stayed.

"No," he answered, his voice quiet, frowning a little deeper. "Why?" That's a strange question to ask, but Annie was perceptive. Most children were. He kept his eyes on Annie, trying to see through them into her mind and how it worked.

The little hazel eyes that were replicas of his blinked a couple of times. They were big, almost all-seeing. She'd been squinting a lot lately; her pediatrician wanted them to take her to an eye doctor, because she might need glasses. Annie read too much, the doctor said, and her eyes were still forming.

Can't believe my kid actually reads too much. I didn't read damn near enough.

She shrugged, her lips curving up a little. "I don't know."

Which means you can't put it into words. You know something's going on with me. With Mommy and with Sophie, but you can't express how you know or what it means, that's why you think I'm sad, he thought, frowning a little more. He licked his lips, resting his head on the pillow and closing his eyes.

A second later he felt her little hand press to his face. He smiled, opening his eyes, finding her nose practically touching his as she inspected him. "Boo," he whispered.

Annie giggled, crawling over him, her arms wrapping around his neck. "Daddy can we go outside now?"

"We can go outside now," he said, carrying her out of the bedroom and down the stairs, leading her outside. She slid down from him, running to the swingset, climbing into one of the swings and kicking her feet out, shouting for him to push her.

Tim walked over, taking the chains of the swing and pulled them back, letting go and sending her forward. He pushed her lightly, not wanting her to get too high, because she tended to jump, wanting to fly. Lyla usually screamed, yelled at him, and freaked out, so he didn't feel like giving Annie an opportunity.

He glanced at the barn, seeing Sophie coming out, her foot in the boot, but she wasn't on her crutches. Noah was gone, it seemed, headed back to Cleveland for practice and his first game of the season. How that kid got out of practice so close to the beginning of football season was beyond Tim.

Must have been because he was Noah Street. At least he didn't go around saying it, not like Smash did or anything.

That reminds me, I have to call him back. He'd left a message with Becky that "Riggy has to build me my dream house, I'm calling it in now."

He'd pencil him in for a consultation. That should be fun. Tim would put him through the ringer.

Sophie approached him, calling out. "Hey Annie."

"Hi Sophie!"

"Hey," he greeted his sister, nodding to her foot. "How is it?"

"Hurts," she answered. She crossed her arms over her chest, her voice soft, so only he could really hear. "Noah went back to Cleveland."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He quirked his lip; glancing back down at her. She didn't seem too happy. Don't know what you got til' its gone, it was a cliché for a reason. He nudged her shoulder, whispering, playing a hunch. The three of them hadn't had a chance to really sit down so he could determine the extent of…whatever Sophie and Noah had, but he had suspicions. "Are you waiting?"

He lifted an eyebrow when she just glanced away. Don't lie to me Sophie. It's not something to be scared about. Trust me, I know. Tim smiled a little, whispering. "I know what it's like Soph. You don't have to tell me everything. I'd almost rather you didn't get too detailed with your love life but…it's not so bad. He'll be there one day."

One day could be forever, but it could be a week or less. It just depended on how long you wanted to do your thing or what your limit was without the other person. He could very well have gone forever without Lyla. It would have hurt, but he could have done it. Lyla, on the other hand, had her threshold. She got what she wanted in New York and that was enough for her.

No regrets, she'd told him, when he asked if she thought she left too soon. Or if she should have come back at all.

Now Sophie, it seemed, was going through that same sort of agreement.

"One day seems an awfully long way away," Sophie whispered.

Yeah. It did. Until one day it wasn't. Tim pushed Annie a little higher, smiling at her happy squeals. He glanced again at Sophie. She really seemed sad. He gave Annie one good push, sending her flying. "Just keep pumping your legs Annie, I'm going to go talk to Sophie on the porch."

Annie didn't even hear him over her happy giggles as she leaned back, her hair touching the ground, kicking her feet to bring her higher.

He walked over to the porch with Sophie, his arms crossed. "What's going on Soph?"

"Nothing, just…" She sighed, smiling sadly, lifting her eyes to his. "I love you Tim. I'm sorry for how I've been these last couple weeks…it's just…a lot." She closed her mouth, sighing hard. "My father's body was released to some nephew in Houston…I just don't…" She sighed hard, obviously distraught at her feelings.

He leaned back on the banister, waiting for her to sit beside him, putting weight on her good foot and letting her bad one sit in front of her. I know you're beating yourself up. It's kind of a thing we do, he mused. Tim rested his head against hers, whispering. "You'll be fine," he said; his voice breathy. "And you don't need to be upset by…by not being affected."

"I know," Sophie answered immediately. She closed her eyes, chuckling. "Look, I know…you're my father, for all intents and purposes and Jack came back to try to ruin that but he couldn't. He couldn't because you and me…"

She shrugged, laughing a little. "Nothing can break us."

No, nothing could break them. He smiled again. It was good to see her smiling and laughing again. It was what Sophie did; for all the pain in her life, she was happier than he had been at her age. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, hugging her tight. "Love you kid. No matter what you do or where you go or who you're with, I will love you."

"I know."

Yes, you can know, but accepting it deep down was what mattered. He knew she would work on it. Maybe Noah would help with that. Or had helped with that.

He let go of her, lifting his head when there was a knocking on the front door, echoing out the open French doors in front of them. He glanced backwards at Annie, swinging high. Sophie gestured to Annie. "I'll watch her. Where's Tyra and…"

"Tyra and Lyla took Max to the doctor for a checkup. I'll go see who…" Tim trailed off, already having a sneaking suspicion. It wasn't supposed to be now. It was supposed to be tomorrow. Lyla had called and set it up. Tomorrow, when Annie and Max weren't in the house, where Tyra couldn't start interfering with her opinions, and where he could control and prepare for the situation.

Why are you here early, he wondered, walking through the house. He waited for a moment at the front door, seeing the tall silhouette in the frosted glass oval set in the light oak. Lyla called it grandmother's glass. He just liked the style of it with the windows.

He thought about what Annie said earlier. Daddy are you sad? No. Daddy's not sad. Daddy's just…just wishing that things could go back to normal. That's all. This was not going back to normal.

This was supposed to be tomorrow.

I am not prepared to do this now.

Deal with it Tim. Suck it up and just open the damn door.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. Just do it. Get it over with. Just put all this behind you.

He opened up the door, pulling it back, staring.

Walt stood on the other side, his hands on his hips, essentially mimicking Tim's usual stance. He smiled a little, reaching to take off his sunglasses, folding them up and holding tight. "I'm sorry I'm early," he said, his voice quiet.

"By a day."

He lifted his eyebrow, the corner of his lip curving with it. "Do you want to prolong this Tim?"

No.

He closed his eyes, sighing and lowering his chin to his chest. I didn't plan for you here like this. I wanted you to be here with Lyla, with Sophie, and with the kids occupied somewhere else. Not right now, when I'm unprepared…for the love of…he shook his head slightly, finally stepping back into the house. He sighed, leaning on the door, gesturing. "Come inside."

Walt stepped into the house, glancing around. He pointed up to the rafters. "This is nice. You did all this?"

"All of it."

"No help or anything?"

He glared at him. Was that a dig? Probably. He could see the glint in Walt's eye. Still the same. So much for you trying to change. "Everything in this house was done by me. Studs and all."

"Not bad."

"Thank you. I make a good living out of it," he said sarcastically, leading his father from the front hall, into the kitchen. He walked around the edge of the counter, his hands placed on either side of the sink, glancing around at the mess. No one had bothered cleaning up from breakfast, so there were empty cereal boxes, bowls, spoons, and about twenty bottles in the sink that had to be cleaned.

Who really cared about a mess though?

He shrugged, unsure what to do, with Walt standing about three feet from him across the counter. "You want anything?" he asked. Not that he cared. He shrugged. "We got baby formula and dry cereal."

"I'm fine," Walt said, shifting nervously. He smiled. It was the same half-smile that he had from time to time. Billy had it a lot. Tim wondered if he should call Billy, but…well his brother had made certain he wasn't interested in a reconciliation of any sort. It made sense.

Not that I'm interested either.

I just want some answers; want this over with.

He kept his grip on the counter, staring down Walt. Say what you want to say. My wife called this pow-wow, not me. Fine, you won't talk? I'll talk. Not that I want to. Tim cleared his throat. "So…you're leaving?"

"I'm leaving," Walt confirmed. He turned his car keys over in his hand, whispering. "I just wanted to say that I'm truly sorry for what all's happened the last couple weeks. I didn't…I didn't expect it. I know it doesn't really matter…I brought him here…." His face fell, his voice dropping with it, almost begging. "I am so sorry Tim. Really…I changed…saw you guys and changed my mind."

You still brought him here.

Doesn't matter, we've been through this. Tim sighed, shaking his head slightly. He was tired. Let's get this over with. I'll tell you want you want to know and you can be on your way and I can get on with my life.

And you won't change that.

His father shifted a little, setting his keys on the counter and his hand covering them. He frowned, lifting his eyes a little, peering through a fringe of hair that fell over his eyes, his voice cracking. "How…how are your kids? You…you seem like a good dad."

Yes. I'm a great dad. Everyone says so, not that I listen to what everyone says. Better than you. He ran his hand over the back of his neck, tamping down the nervousness he felt around his father. That initial anger and hatred from the Buddy's parking lot was gone completely.

Replaced with something akin to just acceptance that his father was here; and relief that he was leaving. Good dad. Yeah, that's me. He nodded his head imperceptibly. "My kids are happy." I can honestly say that. He let it sit there, staring straight to his father, who was just…sad.

Even sadder than how he seemed when he first walked in or when he realized that his son was not going to give him a happy welcome when he showed up at the bar.

Walt understood it.

My kids are happy; unlike how I was, he tried to say.

People could change.

And a grandfather did deserve to know about their grandchildren.

Damnit. He didn't want to do what he was about to do. Might as well. He sighed, stepping around the counter and over to one of the drawers of the built-in desk, where Lyla kept most of their appointment stuff. He rummaged, removing a copy of a photo of Annie and Max sitting on the couch together, about a month and a half ago. "Here," he whispered, flicking it towards him.

I'm not interested in you being Grandfather of the Year.

But if you want a picture to keep…keep it. At Walt's silent questioning, before he took the photo, he went ahead and answered. "They were enough for you to give up money, that must count for something," Tim said; quiet.

He crossed his arms over his chest, frowning at his father. He did seem different. Maybe aging did change you. It did with him. He closed his eyes, clearing his throat. "Look…I…" He laughed a little. This was going to sound so stupid, but right now he didn't care. He lifted eyes, leaning back against the counter. "I defended you," he whispered.

He wanted him to know.

Above all else, Tim wanted him to know.

"I know…" Walt began to say, but Tim interrupted.

"Let me finish." He sighed. This is hard enough. "I defended you. To Billy, to Coach…to everyone. My dad just…he's not a good dad, he sends us checks, he still loves us…he's a good dad. He's just misunderstood. Mom abandoned me without a word, at least Dad told me where he was going when he decided to abandon me. Hell, he even watches me play football."

"Nevermind," he continued, smiling a little bit more twisted, his eyes narrowing on Walt. The anger and resentment was starting to come up. He never really felt it when it was happening. It just kind of got pushed away. Now here it was, twenty years later. "That you told me I wasn't good enough. That I had to try harder. That you humiliated me when I did try harder. You'll love me and be there for me so long as I'm good at football. Or so long as I prop up your ego."

"And I did it," he laughed. That's what the sad part was. He shrugged, shaking his head. "I defended you each and every time you told me I wasn't good enough or had to try harder."

Tim smiled, whispering, almost wistful. "Took me long enough to figure out all that emotional blackmail and manipulation."

Across from him, his father just stared, looking genuinely apologetic. He closed his eyes, hanging his head, shaking it slightly, but said nothing. He just stood there holding the photo of his grandchildren, looking frail and old. And tired.

Now it's your turn.

Try to defend yourself. Own up to it. I'm not sure which one I'd rather you do.

Walt opened his mouth to say something, but his words caught in his throat, the back door opening. Annie ran inside, stopping beside him. "Daddy," she announced, holding her hands up. "I want to play in the treehouse, I can't reach the ladder."

The ladder, damn, he forgot to pull it down the night before. He glanced at Annie, shooting a look to Walt to say nothing. He didn't want to confuse her. Annie knew one man as her grandfather and that was Buddy Garrity. He ran his hand over her dark curls, clearing his throat. "I'll get the ladder later, can you keep playing on the swings?"

Annie grumbled, looking over at Walt, her eyes narrowing in curiosity at the new person. She tugged on his t-shirt. "Daddy who is that?" she whispered loudly, pointing.

Tim set her finger down to her side. "No pointing and this is…" What the hell was he going to say?

Thankfully his father sensed his discomfort and unwillingness to fully explain, stepping into the conversation. "I'm Walt," his father said, his voice quiet. He smiled down at her, genuinely sad. "You're Annie, right?"

Thank you, he thought, glancing at his daughter.

"Yup. Anne Sophie Riggins, that's me!" Annie practically began climbing up his leg, turning her attention back to him and the treehouse. "Daddy please! Please, I'll be good, I promise!"

That's what you said when we left you alone in the room with Max and came back to find you flicking his ear. It took about an hour to calm down the screaming baby.

He glanced at Walt. "I'll be back in a minute," he mumbled, wanting to get Annie out of here quickly. He went outside, tugging down the ladder, wondering why Sophie didn't get it. He glanced out of the corner of his eye, seeing her doing dance steps out in the grass, in her own world.

As much as she wanted to have a proper conversation with Walt, Tim wanted to get his father out of here. He went back into the house, leading Walt out of the kitchen and into the sunroom area. "You want to sit down?" he asked. Or stand? I prefer to stand.

Stand, clearly, because Walt made no move to sit down. He obviously didn't want this to last longer than was necessary. He crossed his arms over his chest again, whispering. "I did what I had to do Tim," he whispered, smiling a little. He raked his hand through his hair. He glanced down at the picture, his voice seemingly faraway. "I did what I didn't do before."

What are you even talking about?

He cocked his head, his arms crossing again. "You had surgery or something you said?" You okay, he begrudgingly wondered. You're not going to collapse in front of me or something? "Something I should know?" Like maybe, is it hereditary or something?"

Walt nodded, gesturing to his chest; there were some faded red scars peeking out from over the top button of his flannel shirt. "Had some…some surgeries a few years back…bad ticker."

"Bad ticker? Heart attack?"

"In so many…" Walt shrugged again, glancing out the window, his voice quiet. "Had some virus from when I was a kid…kind of came back and…needed a new heart."

Holy crap.

Tim stared. You didn't want to find us for that? Walt finally looked at him. Clearly his disgust was showing on his face; it wasn't hard for him to show his emotions, he wore them on his sleeve when the moment called for it, Lyla told him once. Other times he just hid them deep beneath a shield. Right now they must have been showing.

His father instantly looked away, mumbling. "Not like you can donate hearts Tim."

"I'm sure if you needed a kidney you'd have come calling."

"No, I wouldn't," Walt snapped, glaring at him. He shook his head, gesturing around the house. "You think this is easy for me Tim? To come back here like this? I'm sorry I was a crap father, I've said that enough."

"No, I don't think you have," Tim answered, leaning back against the wall. He didn't care. Really, deep down, he honestly didn't care anymore. He shrugged, giving up. "What's done is done though." He ran his tongue over his teeth. Heart transplant. "And getting a new heart still didn't seem to change you Dad."

That was the first time he'd called him that since he'd shown up two weeks ago.

And Walt knew it.

So Tim dug it in a little more. "Well Dad, it's been swell, but in this visit you've brought my sister's estranged father who is now dead, which has completely messed up her life, you've tried to mess up mine, and now I'm just wondering what you're still doing here." He sighed again, frowning, his voice dropping to a bare whisper. "Because I'm just…I can't do this again, okay? I can't have you come back here and me give you the benefit of the doubt again, alright? I have kids now. I can't do that because it'd end up hurting them too."

And you're the only parent I have who is still alive. Would it be nice for you to stay? To be like Anne wanted to be? Yeah, sure. It'd be nice for my children to know their grandparents, but…

But they wouldn't.

Until one day when they were doing school projects, like Annie was doing when she found out about her father, and figured it all out.

"Maybe a new heart did change me," Walt whispered, still clutching the photo in his hands. He looked down at it, shrugging. "Maybe a long time ago this picture would have done nothing, but now…look I told you I screwed up Tim. I told you that I needed the money and I thought what was the harm, you know? Until I realized what he wanted to say. What he wanted to do and I had to stop that and I did. I stopped it and I protected you and my grandchildren."

That was the second time he'd said something like that.

Protect. Stop. Ended.

Tim's eyebrows slammed to a point. He cleared his throat. I don't want to know, a voice instantly began to chirp in his head. You don't want to know. You don't want to know. You don't want to know.

He licked his lips, his hands needed to do something so he shoved them into his pockets. He cleared his throat again. "Fine, maybe you did change," he accepted. He sighed again, trying to come to terms with this.

Where did they go from here?

Tim turned his neck a little, closing his eyes. "You know…after you left I just…I didn't care anymore. Still don't. You want to stay, Dad? If you want to stay and you want to honestly do this thing, well…I can't stop you, but…I can't handle it and neither could my kids if you just disappointed again."

And maybe it's my turn to tell you the disappointment you are to me.

Karma can be a bitch.

He wrestled with those emotions, back and forth, nonstop the last two weeks. Did he want him back? Of course, he wanted his only surviving parent to be around. Did he want to forgive? Yes, it would be nice, and he did forgive, but…in the end, would he be able to deal with Walt just leaving again? Screwing up his life or Sophie's or the kids? No.

This really isn't my decision anymore.

I just can't care.

Walt lifted the picture up, whispering. "I can keep this?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Thank you."

Guess that was it then. Tim pushed away from the wall, walking by Walt. He felt his father's hand reach out, gripping his wrist. His eyes closed. What? He was so damn tired.

"I just want you to know," Walt whispered, smiling a little. His eyes crinkled up. "I do love you Tim. I did it for you, you didn't deserve me as a dad."

"No, I deserved a dad," Tim answered, meeting his eyes. He shook his head again. "And maybe I still do, but…there are other dads."

"That coach?"

"Billy," he added. He shrugged, seeing Walt's look like 'yeah right.' "He sucked too, but he was still better than you were. Buddy Garrity."

"Seriously?" Walt asked, slightly surprised by that.

"Took me in like family. Until we actually became one," Tim whispered. He slipped his wrist from Walt's grip, walking by him again, hearing his name once more. He stopped, turning slowly in the doorway.

His father was gesturing to a framed document hanging on the wall. "This real?"

"Yeah."

"No shit?"

"Shit."

Walt nodded, smiling a little at the diploma from Texas Tech, a Bachelor of Arts in Business. Conferred upon Timothy Riggins. Took me damn long enough to scrimp together courses taken all over the freaking place to get it, Tim thought, walking out of the sunroom.

He led Walt back through the living room, pausing to lean against one of the two columns separating the kitchen from the living room. He'd have preferred it to be open, but when Lyla had gotten it up her ass to expand the living room and put on the study, he needed a load-bearing wall, so he'd had to put in the columns.

Walt had stopped and was inspecting the photographs that again; Lyla had plastered his house with. It was her house too, he just liked to give her shit for making it more her place than leaving it his.

_"Tim your idea of decorating is that horrid deer-head over the fireplace and a flatscreen television. If you could put up flannel wallpaper you would."_

He would too, just to annoy her, but she'd ensured he couldn't, putting picture up all over the place. He liked it; Anne had pictures in her house, so he'd added some of those, of Sophie as a baby and all. The house he grew up in certainly never had pictures on the walls.

His father pointed to one. "This your wedding?"

"Yeah."

"When?"

"Seven years ago, September 4," he said. He remembered the day, because it was Lyla's birthday. They'd picked it; because that was the day she said they officially 'got together.' He was pretty sure they didn't officially get together until the first game of the season, but then he realized one year that that was the night they kissed on the side of the road. When it all began, so to speak.

He was still sure it all began when she grabbed him in front of her father and started making out with him in the middle of the room.

Walt looked at a couple others, stopping on one of him with a newborn Annie. He chuckled. "You look terrified."

"I was terrified," he fully admitted. He frowned a little, his voice quiet. "You want me to explain all of them."

His father shook his head, glancing sideways at him. "Just looking. There's just something in these I'm seeing that I never…really saw I guess."

"What?"

His father just shrugged, not answering, and looking at a couple more. "Got yourself a nice girl there."

"Yeah, well, she gave up a lot to come back here, so…" Tim shrugged. He stepped away from the column, looking out the large kitchen window at Annie, who was dangling upside down from the trapeze bar on the swingset, while Sophie spotted her. In the distance there was all the land, he still refused to touch with anything, whether it was another, smaller house like a guest-house, or maybe getting horses or something.

He figured it was worth giving up New York for, but then again, he wasn't Garrity.

He leaned back against the counter, glancing at Walt. "So where are you going?" he whispered. That might be nice to know."

Walt glanced sideways, whispering. "I don't…don't really know if I am going to go."

Oh?

Tim ran his tongue over his teeth. So he was staying, huh? He lifted his chin slightly. "In Dillon?"

"Austin. There's this golf course on Lake Travis, they're hiring me on. It's a good job. It's…close." Walt lifted his eyes back up, whispering. "Closer to things that I hope…hope I can get closer to."

He closed his eyes. Only if you keep to my rules. He shook his head slightly, whispering. "There's gonna' be rules. I can't let you back full-time." I have to talk to Lyla about this. I just…this is going to be a lesson in trust.

Trust was a very funny thing.

He nodded a little, biting at his lower lip, shrugging again. "Well…you sure screwed up a lot with your little visit, but…" Guess that's just life.

You did come tell us, when you saw everything, when you realized…nice.

Walt shook his head, whispering. "I told you Tim…I'm sorry for what you went through. I didn't want kids. Your mother got pregnant on accident so we got married. That's how it was. Her parents basically disowned her because I was older than her…she tried to make the best of it but when she left, that was it for me. I had anger issues, drinking issues, I get that and…and the one time I came back, it didn't end well…"

Because of you, not because of me. All I wanted was my dad.

I am so sick of being the victim. Something he'd learned over the last few years. It was amazing what you could realize when you grew up. When you had that…enlightenment.

He glanced to his father. "I am not cut out for fatherhood, even now," Walt concluded. He smiled a little, whispering. "I protected you and your family and I guess I realized…realized that…it's time for a change and I want to make it up to you."

There it was again.

Protect.

Don't ask, Tim thought again, his jaw setting. He lifted his eyes up, shaking his head, and finally just walking away from Walt, leading him out of the house, down the steps, and to the blue truck. He turned slightly, waiting on Walt to catch up to him.

He cleared his throat, waiting for Walt to say something, but he didn't. Guess it's my turn to talk again. "You…" he began, closing his eyes. "You can come back if you…if you want forgivness, you can have it, because it's easier for me to forgive you than for me to sit and wonder, okay?" He continued without waiting on Walt's acknowledgment. "You screwed up a lot coming back, kind of like last time, only this time it wasn't my fault for bringing you back and ignoring what everyone else was saying. But…if you come back and you honestly want to change…" He bit his lip hard, tasting a drop of blood on his tongue.

This was going to be hard. He fought through his initial reaction to immediately say no. The rage and the anger and that immediate reaction from two weeks ago were still there somewhat, but they were not worth hanging onto. Just say it Tim. "You want to come back, like Mom…I didn't turn her away. I won't turn you away."

Walt's smile softened. "She was a good woman."

"She was sick. She…she didn't deserve to die."

"No, no she didn't." He sighed. He shook his head, lifting his eyes up to the sky, whispering. "I'm really sorry about her Timmy. I know you loved her."

I did. Yes. Don't call me Timmy.

His father reached his hand out, waiting a moment. Tim glanced at it and then up at him, his arms still wrapped around his chest. He swallowed, stepping forward and lifting his arms up, giving his dad one tight hug.

His eyes closed when he felt Walt return the hug, clutching him.

Too bad it couldn't always be like this.

Tim let go, stepping away and not saying a word, watching Walt climb up into the truck and turn the engine over. His father smiled. "You can come by whenever you want…it's a start, right?"

It's a start.

He closed is eyes, dropping his head back down to his chest, waiting a moment, his hands on his hips. He finally lifted his head again, whispering. "It's Lyla's birthday in a few weeks. We're having a big party, most of the town shows up…Buddy's bar. You can…you can come. If you want."

It's a start.

Walt nodded, whispering. "I'll see you Tim."

He stepped aside, watching the truck rumble out of the driveway, taking off down the street, dust kicking up with the wind.

So that was it then.

Almost three weeks.

Three weeks ago, he went for a run and saw that truck; saw Jack. Three weeks ago, Sophie came back for their little ceremony to honor their mother. Three weeks ago, his father approached Lyla in a coffee shop.

It felt like three years.

It was over.

Jack was dead. No one was in trouble for it. Sophie would be able to recover and move on, without wondering any longer if that horrible person would come back into her life.

Walt was…sort of back in his life. Off somewhere else, with a vague location if they ever needed to find him. With the knowledge that his sons managed to overcome whatever it was that he'd tried to squash out of them. That his anger and frustration and his own issues didn't hurt them.

And Tim was just…he was just Tim.

He didn't feel any different or any worse.

"Daddy!"

"Tim, can you come entertain her? I'm trying to work on this thing for my friend!" Sophie came out beside him, limping in her boot. She frowned, looking at him and then out at the road. "Who was here? I thought I heard you talking to someone."

Yeah, there was no use hiding it from her. He shrugged, whispering, still looking at the empty space where his father was a moment before.

"My dad."

Her eyes widened. She gaped for a second. "Tim!" she finally exclaimed, smacking his arm. Ow, he thought. "I wanted to talk to him. Why didn't you come find me?"

Because it doesn't matter.

It's over now.

Tim smiled at her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, changing the subject. It was time to be happy again. "Let's go find out what is making Miss Priss angry."

This wouldn't be the end, he knew Sophie still had to heal; hell, even he still had to heal. Sophie rested her head on his shoulder, whispering. "Are you okay?"

I'm fine, actually. He kissed her forehead. "I'm great."

That was the truth.

Annie ran at him and he let go of Sophie to swing her into his arms. He was happy.

This didn't mess it up.

They could go back to normal.


	21. Lyla Looks Back

**A/N:**I'm trying to finish this story up, at least the main plot and the Epilogues can wait until later. That's why there's this sudden push of chapters out. Enjoy, thanks :)

* * *

**Chapter 21: Lyla Looks Back**

"Hey you."

Lyla stepped out onto the balcony of her bedroom, her fingers resting on Tim's shoulder. She took a seat beside him, smiling comfortingly. He'd been out here for most of the evening.

She understood why. After she and Tyra got back from the doctor's appointment, not Max's, but they'd lied, of course, for Tyra's sake, she'd found out about Walt's visit. It had been pretty blunt. She walked into the kitchen with Max, Annie ran in and said she met someone named Walt and then ran back out.

Leaving Tim holding the bag, so to speak.

Tim told her it was fine and said he needed to get some work done, but he had to talk with Billy, so he'd left. Leaving her and Sophie to talk and hang out. Only Sophie hadn't been much of a fun visit either, annoyed a little that Tim didn't tell her about Walt's visit either.

The rest of the day had progressed relatively uneventfully.

Like a normal day, even with Sophie there. She was even smiling and laughing, although it seemed to surprise her when she did. Lyla knew Sophie would be okay. With whatever she ended up choosing with her career path and coming to terms with her injury and well, whatever ended up happening with Noah, who, Lyla found, had returned to Cleveland for practice.

She'd sent Jason a text earlier in the day, saying one day they might be in-laws. Jason had called, demanding to know what she meant by that. Whoops, apparently he didn't know about Noah and Sophie. She'd told him to talk to Noah and immediately hung up. He still hadn't called back.

Lyla took a seat next to Tim on the small balcony; it was more like a window seat that just opened out a little. He had his back to the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him. She stretched across from him, taking the bottle of beer in his hands.

"You can't drink that," he warned.

"No, but I can pretend I am." Actually she could, she'd just dump later and give Max formula. She was trying to wean him anyway. Lyla held the bottle loosely in her fingertips, smiling.

Despite knowing Walt was here and then left, without her speaking to him, she was in a really good mood.

He frowned, his eyes narrowed. "What're you smiling about?"

"I have some good news," she whispered, cocking her head, glancing down at the bottle, trying not to just burst out laughing from happiness. She scanned the backyard, seeing the lights on in the barn. The doors were wide open, because it was cooler now at night. Tyra was down there with Sophie and Max; they'd invited Angela and Mindy and everyone else over.

It was to celebrate and share some happy news.

Apparently, Annie had announced she would show them 'her moves.' Sophie also needed family around; once she was finished with Tim, she'd go join them. She pinched in her cheeks, running her tongue over her teeth, finally laughing and grinning wide.

I can't keep it inside anymore, even though I promised. "So…" she drawled, leaning forward a little over her knees, grinning wide. "Tyra and I didn't take Max to the doctor. I took Tyra to the doctor and brought Max with me."

Tim frowned. "Doctor? She okay?"

"She's perfect," Lyla laughed, setting the bottle of beer down, crawling over to curl up against his chest. She sighed, shaking her head, so happy. "She's pregnant."

"Excuse me?"

"Tyra Collette," she laughed, remembering the moment when Tyra came out of the doctor's office, shaking from head to toe, alternating between crying and laughing. It was a very happy, beautiful moment. Mindy had been there too, all three of them jumping up and down in excitement. She sighed, closing her eyes. "Our Tyra is having not one baby, but two."

"Twins!?"

"Oh yeah."

He just sat there, stunned. Yes, it was shocking. "But she's like forty."

"I gave birth when I was 40."

"39. You don't turn 40 for a few more weeks and I've got plans Garrity."

Oh God, I don't even want to know what your plans are. Tim was known to get a little crazy with birthday parties. It was just that happy little kid part of him that Lyla never wanted to go away and was so glad it hadn't. It reminded her of the year they were together in high school.

She'd thrown his birthday party earlier that year when he turned 40, calling it a 'No Regrets' themed affair. She'd been pregnant, which hadn't been much fun, but it had been a pretty insane night. That morning she'd woken up in the middle of the lake, with her bump decorated in face paint and Tim drunk and halfway falling out of the boat.

Lord knew what he'd come up with to get back at her.

Whatever it was, she was just glad that he was planning a happy event, that whatever was shared between him and his father this morning wasn't dragging him down. She pressed her hand to his chest, smiling up at him, seeing his lips curved upward. "Tyra's knocked up," he drawled. "Wow."

Lyla rolled her eyes; when she was pregnant with Annie, he'd worn a t-shirt that had an arrow pointing to her stomach that said "I Made This, It's Mine." Tim had a funny way of expressing his happiness about babies coming along.

"She is indeed," she said. "Todd has no idea; she's going to tell him this weekend when she goes back to Dallas to meet him. Apparently Landry convinced her that kids are not the end of the world. He had his son with him when he was staying with her a few weeks ago, before she came out here."

"Isaac?" Tim wondered out loud. "That his name?"

Yes, Isaac Newton Clarke. Literally, when Lyla heard that name, she'd about started laughing to death, until Landry explained, at the high school reunion when he shared the information, that it was his two grandfather's names. They just happened to be named after Landry's favorite scientist. His wife was some sort of an engineer like Landry, so Lyla supposed it fit perfectly for the two comic book nerds.

"Yeah, Tyra loves him too. Todd is going to be so thrilled; he's been bugging her about changing her mind. She just didn't tell him that she did. She wanted to surprise him if she did get pregnant."

"Yeah Tyra doesn't really do what she doesn't want to do."

Same could be said about you, Lyla thought, taking his hand into hers, running her thumb over his wedding ring. She took his hand, slipping it off, turning the circle around in the air. "I'm gonna' need that back," he mumbled in her ear. "My wife doesn't like it when I run around without my wedding ring. Thinks all the girls throw themselves at me."

"They throw themselves at you with or without the ring."

"And you bitch-slap them."

"That was just the one who I warned, she didn't listen," she murmured, turning the ring, so she could see the engraving beneath it. He'd gotten her ring and she'd gotten his, having the jeweler put 'no regrets, L.G.R' underneath it. No more, they were doing this and not looking back, that was the idea behind it.

She put it back onto his hand, folding his fingers down, her hand covering his. They had to talk about Walt. "Is he gone?" she whispered.

Because I'm not sure I can handle it if he suddenly popped up and said he was staying permanently or something.

"Not…not really."

"Oh?" That was an interesting development. She shrugged her shoulders, whispering. "What do you mean, is he…he staying in Dillon?" There would have to be rules. Her mind was already racing, trying to pin them down.

Tim shrugged, whispering. "No, he's in Austin…I don't know if he's gonna' be back forever or what, but…he's just…my dad and I…if he wants back, he can be back. It's not worth holding onto…I invited him to your birthday. We'll see if he even shows up."

Lyla supposed it was good to know though that he was capable of change; that he had done something bad, but he corrected his mistake as best he could, and in the end, it all sort of worked out, despite the short-term pain and suffering.

"What about Sophie, did she see him?"

"No. She was with Annie."

That was also probably a good thing. Sophie didn't need to talk to him, although maybe she did. Too late now, she supposed. Lyla thought it was good that Sophie was moving on and not hanging up on this. She had enough going on in her life.

"You know," Lyla whispered, lifting her face up, smiling at him again. "My dad wants you to put an addition on to the bar. He wants a bigger office. Preferably one on a second story where he can look down through glass windows at his spoils."

"Your father…" Tim let it hang off, but chuckled, brushing his lips over her cheek. "You know I never told him, but…he feels like more of a dad to me than mine ever was."

And he is. He always is. She closed her eyes, breathing deep. The day she got married, she'd been in this very room with her father, the two of them standing in front of her floor-length mirror. Buddy had been crying, telling her she was beautiful and he was so happy that she was happy.

It had been one of the best moments of her life, when Buddy Garrity told her that he loved Tim like a son and he was finally going to be able to say that for real now. Lyla had flashed back in that moment to when she'd had to hear her father groan and mope about the fact that they were dating. Now he was…he was congratulating her on finally ending up with Tim.

As they'd left the room, before he walked her down the aisle, Buddy had mumbled "I don't know what the hell took you guys so long."

Neither do I Daddy. I could probably write a dissertation on it all.

She tried not to start crying, but couldn't help with a few tears leaked out the corners of her eyes. "Daddy loves you too," she whispered, kissing his cheek and holding him close. "Not as much as I love you; you are still the guy that I dated after Jason Street that he actually met and Jason was a tough act to follow."

"Well of course," Tim laughed. He glanced down towards the barn. "Speaking of Jason…does he know we're about ten years away from being in-laws?"

In a manner of speaking. "Not sure," she lied, climbing off his lap and taking his hands, dragging him up. "Come on, let's go downstairs and join the party."

He paused, his hands going to her shoulders. "You know my dad…"

Yes. I know. "We don't need to ever talk about it again," she whispered. We don't need to ever discuss these last two weeks again if we don't have to. She lifted her face up to him, whispering. "He did what he felt he had to do Tim." And if I'm not mistaken, that's probably why you aren't…aren't as upset as you were when he came to town originally, a week ago.

One day, Lyla figured she'd probably hire someone to track down Walt Riggins. Just for peace of mind, to ensure that what happened these last two weeks wouldn't come up again. She wasn't sure when, but she would.

She turned around in his arms, giving him a hard, swift kiss to silence him on the topic. "Come on," she said, breaking the kiss a moment later, taking his hand and squeezing it hard. "Let's go celebrate with Tyra. This is going to be fun, she's three months and she's already gained like fifteen pounds!"

I'm sorry, was that a little too gleeful, she wondered, dragging him to the stairs.

"You women are mean."

Yeah, we can be mean, but I try to always be nice. Unless I have to be mean for some other reason. "I'm not being mean, I'm just finding it funny because she's usually so skinny." Plus, she made fun of me for gaining about fifty pounds with Max.

Payback's a bitch.

She walked through the kitchen, stopping when she saw her bag buzzing on the counter. Tim leaned out the window, glancing over his shoulder, waiting on her. "Go on out, I'll be there in a minute."

He went ahead, leaving her alone.

Lyla tossed her hair over her shoulder. I shouldn't have done this. I really, really shouldn't have done this. She closed her eyes, removing her cell phone and answering. "Hello?"

"Ms. Garrity, this I Detective Evans. I want you to know that we located the money you gave to Jack McConnell."

What!?

Her eyes widened in surprise; she'd never expected to see that money again. "Oh," she whispered, reaching her hand to press at her forehead. "What…how?"

"Anonymous tip from a payphone, we found it in a storage locker at the bus station. We couldn't locate the user of the payphone, there were no security cameras or witnesses, but we'll keep looking. The money will remain in evidence for a period of a year and then it will be returned to you."

I don't ever want to see that money again.

She pursed her lips, thanking him and disconnecting the call. She stood at the counter for a moment, looking out at the barn. They were all laughing, she could see Tim trying to lift Tyra up off the ground, with her trying to hit him. She set the phone down in her purse and left the house, headed towards the barn.

In the barn, she found Angela trying to inspect Tyra's belly and Tyra was trying to make her go away. She spied Max squealing happily in Buddy's arms, trying to shove his feet completely up over his head.

Annie, meanwhile, looked a little disappointed to not be the center of attention. Kid, you have got to get over that, Lyla thought, walking over to sit beside her daughter. "You okay baby?" she asked, kissing her head and pulling her closer.

"Yes."

"Yeah? What's wrong?"

She lifted her face up, her lips puckered, clearly thinking. Annie was a very gifted child; Lyla was pretty sure she knew everything everyone was feeling. Observant. She was kind of like Tim in that way. She squinted, reminding Lyla they had to get her an appointment with the eye doctor so she could get glasses. "I want to know why I have one grandpa and one grandma," she demanded, holding up one finger.

She scowled again, pointing at Tyra. "Her babies get two."

And something tells me you're angry about the fact that Aunt Tyra, who always spoils you, is now getting the attention and will have babies who will be getting all the attention when they come visit.

Lyla shrugged her shoulder, knowing this would come up with Annie. She just didn't expect it so soon. "Well," she whispered, tucking her hair behind her ear, an arm around Annie's shoulder. She closed her eyes. "You have a grandma in California and a grandpa, remember?"

"Yes. Gigi and Kevin." Because Mommy doesn't like Kevin, so we don't call him anything but Kevin, Lyla thought with a small smile. She licked her lips, focusing on Tim, who was talking with Buddy about something. "And then there's Grandpa and Grandma Angela. That's mommy's stepmom, okay?"

"Yes."

"Okay. So that's Mommy, now Daddy has Uncle Billy and Aunt Mindy, who is Aunt Tyra's sister. Their mom is Grandma Angela." And your mommy is going to once again feel a little disgusted at the amount of creepy this whole cross-family situation was to her sometimes. She pointed to Tim. "And Daddy? His mommy, okay? She died. Remember, we talked about this, you're named after her. She's Sophie's Mommy too."

Annie nodded, remembering. "Okay. She died, she got sick. She's in Heaven."

"She's in Heaven," Lyla confirmed. Okay, now came the hard part. She closed her eyes, whispering. "And sometimes there are daddies who…who aren't there. Okay? Daddy's dad, your grandpa, he…well," she sighed, wondering if it was going to matter in the end.

Might as well let her know. "The man you met this morning?" she whispered, stroking Annie's hair. She paused. No turning back. "That was Daddy's dad. His name is Walt."

Annie frowned a little. "Oh…what do I call him?"

You don't call him anything. Lyla cleared her throat, dropping her eyes to Annie's small hands, which were curled around her fingers. "Well…" she breathed, lifting her eyes back to Annie's big hazel ones. "You could call him whatever you want, but…but he isn't here, okay? You have Grandpa, Grandma Angela, Gigi, Kevin, and that's all. That's a lot of people who love you, okay?"

Annie's eyes narrowed to slits. "And Max."

And Max too. Lyla chuckled, lifting Annie up to sit in her lap, wrapping her arms around her, kissing her cheek. I love you. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. I'll love you forever and ever, my little girl. My Annie. She rested her chin on Annie's shoulder, thinking about that for a second.

If someone came up and tried to hurt her, she would probably go for the throat. She'd kill. Look at what happened with Jack, she…she'd done what she had to do to get rid of him. Not kill him, but…she didn't really feel sorry.

That made her feel a little sick; she wasn't that person, but she also couldn't help how she felt.

The things people would do for their children, she mused, kissing Annie's cheek. Her eyes fluttered open, staring across the barn at Tim. He still seemed a little sad; he would be. He'd be fine. I told you it would be fine, she thought. Well, not in so many words, but…you'd be okay afterward.

Walt.

The things we do for our children.

It seemed to be a true testament to Walt, the more she pieced things together. He might not have been the one to knock Jack in the back of the head, but he was somehow connected. They'd never know. Even Tim would wonder, but…but he wanted Walt back in his life, then he could make that decision on his own.

And Walt protected him.

She sat aside, watching as the 'party' began to wind down, moving from the barn back to the house. She'd put the kids to bed and come downstairs, finding Tyra in the living room, trying to assure Angela that it was fine that she was pregnant at her age, that the babies were fine, and Todd would be happy and would not divorce her.

"Well you know sweetheart, if he does get angry with you or whatever for not telling him or planning this, there's always that sweet Landry you're friends with or you know, you could even try for Tim!" Angela exclaimed.

Lyla rolled her eyes; Angela still hadn't warmed up to her over the last 17 years. "Hello Angela," she greeted her stepmother. Tyra just snorted in laughter. She glared at Tyra.

"Oh, hello dear," Angela said, her voice dropping several degrees. Was it chilly in here or is that just me, Lyla thought like asking. She nodded towards her father, who was out on the porch. "Buddy talking to Boosters?"

"First game of the season is next week," Angela reminded her.

She chuckled, gesturing upstairs. "I think I'm just going to go back upstairs. To my kids."

"Along with her husband," Tyra said, spelling out the word 'husband' for Angela, who remained oblivious. "Tim is Lyla's husband, Mom."

Angela just waved her hand aside, like that was just a minor technicality in the event Tyra needed to pick up a husband fast. "Yes dear, they're upstairs," she said, clapping her hands together, her feet bouncing on the floor. "And Max is just the cutest thing, I know he said Grandma."

"Mom, Max can't eat solid food yet, he's not saying Grandma."

Lyla left the two of them to bicker it out, jogging up the stairs and finding that in the brief moment she'd come downstairs, Annie had gotten in bed with Tim, where she was perched on the pillow next to him, holding a book open in her lap, while Max sat on his stomach, holding his head up, with help from Tim's hand on his back.

She stared at Max. "Oh my God."

"What?" Annie demanded, lowering the book. She glared at Max. "What did he do?"

"He's…" She walked quickly towards the bed, climbing onto it and leaning over Max, giving him a ton of kisses, which had him blowing out spit bubbles at her, seemingly happy. "He's holding up his head," she laughed.

"Yeah, he just started doing it earlier," Tim said, grinning at her. He shrugged a shoulder. "Thought I'd surprise you, see if he did it in front of you. He still forgets how, almost toppled backwards a minute ago." He lifted an eyebrow. "And so I asked Annie to read us a story."

"Yes, of course," she said, taking the hint, focusing her attention on Annie, who seemed pleased that they were paying attention to her again. Lyla clapped her hands together. "Let me change into my pjs and we can hear your story."

"I want you to tell me a story," Annie announced, folding her book up and setting down 'Ferdinand the Bull.' She folded her hands in her lap, grinning. "Please."

Lyla smiled, climbing off the bed and changing into a pair of pajamas. She closed the door, knowing Tyra would get everyone out of the house in due time, before she returned to the bed and pulled Annie against her chest, glancing sideways at Tim. "Okay, what story?"

"I want the story of you guys."

"The story of us," Tim exclaimed, like it was a big thing. He lifted an eyebrow, smiling down at her. "You know what that is?"

"Why I do," she giggled.

"Tell me!"

Lyla smiled at Tim again, beginning the story of how they met, in elementary school and working up towards how they ended up getting together, finally culminating in the birth of Annie, where they always ended the story for her. By the time she reached the 'happily ever after, but with lots of bumps in the road', Annie was fast asleep and Max had fallen backwards on Tim's stomach, passed out as well.

She glanced at the two of them. It seemed for a while it was just going to be Annie. Not like she was planned. They'd taken time, they'd…they were older when they got married; she wasn't delusional, she knew it would probably be a bit of a problem, maybe, to get pregnant at her age. She'd ended up just sort of tossing everything in the trash one morning. If it happened, it happened.

And it did, about a year later. Then after Annie, they'd finally had 'that talk.' It was weird, sitting at a kitchen table talking family planning with Tim Riggins.

"Remember my pregnancy scare in high school?" she wondered out loud, her eyes narrowed on Annie, who was curled around the both of them like an 'S'. Her arms were wrapped around Tim's, who was kind of frozen where he was due to the two kids snaked around him.

He frowned. "Which one was that?"

She turned her head towards his, scowling. Seriously, Tim? Twenty years, it'd been Twenty years. "There was one."

"Must have been someone else."

It took her a second to realize he was kidding. Asshole. She licked her lips, staring up at the ceiling, whispering. "I was so scared Tim. It was Christmas that year." She was back living with her father again, going to San Antonio State with Tim, wondering what had become of her life. She'd had everything, until suddenly it all fell apart. Meanwhile, Tyra Collette was waitlisted at UT and she hadn't even applied, because she was focusing so much on Vanderbilt.

He sighed. "You wouldn't talk to me for like three days."

Yes, because I was going through pregnancy tests like they were toys. She'd taken like twenty of them. Half were positive and half were negative. In the end, she'd gone to Planned Parenthood, sat down with Corinna Williams, and a blood test, which returned inconclusive. Final judgment was she had probably had a miscarriage in like the second or third week of pregnancy and not even really noticed.

She shrugged, whispering, her fingers drifting through Annie's dark hair. It was almost black. Against her pale skin, with her hazel eyes, she kind of resembled Snow White. "I thought I was pregnant. I was seventeen and I just…it wasn't what I needed at the time, you know? So much was already happening and…and then it ended up not being anything," she breathed. Or maybe it was something.

He frowned a little, scanning her through his lashes. "Miscarriage, right?" he whispered. Yeah, she thought idly. They told her that she'd basically gotten pregnant, but her body rejected it within the first two weeks, so….so she wouldn't have known at all if she hadn't started panicking because they'd forgotten protection.

Besides, it didn't even really affect her after she found out, because it was never real. She never told Buddy; that was the last thing she needed, when Tim and him were getting on so well.

"Doesn't really matter though, you know? It all worked out in the end," he whispered, his hand slipping down to squeeze hers. He nodded towards the kids. "We still have them…they're ours. Even if it took a long time to finally get them."

She chuckled, smiling. "And even if both were surprises." Hell, she'd thought she was going through menopause or something with Max. That had been a shock when the doctor told her. Guess it was meant to be, another baby.

It was the four of them; she smiled. "I'd do anything for them," she breathed. She lifted her eyes to Tim's. Choose your words very carefully, she thought. Tim narrowed his eyes; he seemed to be focusing on her, like he was reading her mind.

Which she was fairly certain he was capable of doing. She almost didn't blink; hell, she barely breathed. Say it, she thought, challenging him.

He closed his eyes briefly, swallowing, his throat bobbing slightly as he opened his eyes, sighing. "Where's the money?" he whispered; his voice was tight, almost hoping that it wasn't true.

I'm sorry but it is.

It was her turn to close her eyes. Swallow hard and then look back at him. Do you really want to know? She sighed, breathing for a second, in and out. Just in and out. "The money is with the police," she paused. She closed her eyes again. "Parents…protect their children." Choose your words very carefully. "And…and lovers protect the ones they love. I…I protected you the way I thought I could and…and your father protected you too. In a way, he also protected Sophie. From a bad man."

There. In so many words, I told you what I believe happened and what probably did, in fact, happen. "And I don't know, but I am not going to…to judge another parent for…for protecting their kid." As bad as it might look or be.

He sighed hard. The room was quiet again. Max was sort of snoring. It was cute. Little baby snuffles. Tim sighed again. "He really seems like he's changed…"

Yes, he did. "And it's possible Tim. Maybe he's not going to be as apologetic or anything as Anne was, but he's still changed." Lyla took a deep breath, her hand touching his arm. "And I will support you no matter what he decides to do or what you decide to do…so long as we're both agreeing on the kids."

"Okay."

Yeah. Okay.

I love you, she thought, kissing him lightly. She touched her hand to his cheek, stroking for a second. She let it fall down to Annie, lifting her daughter up a little, feeling her shift and mumble. It's okay sweetie, Mommy's just hugging you closer. I need to hug you right now.

"I should go put him in his crib," Tim mumbled, his lips barely a fraction of an inch from hers. He made no move at all to get up.

I wonder what Sophie's up to, Lyla thought briefly. Noah was gone. Tyra was probably asleep, she'd been complaining about how tired she'd been. She closed her eyes, mumbling. "I love you."

Tim sighed, squeezing her hand again. "Yeah. Me too."

And we won't talk about this again, she thought, opening her eyes to focus on his for a moment. He nodded slightly, agreeing.

The things parents do for their kids, she mused again.

And things kids do for their parents.


	22. Sophie's Future

**A/N:**This is the last regular chapter; there will be three epilogues, one from Tim, Lyla, and Sophie's POVs. I don't know when I'll be able to post them, I may be without Internet for a few days. After this fic, I'll take a short break. I have two fics that I'd like to post, both are long, dark, and again, Tim/Lyla. The one is actually two new characters, set waaaay in the future, I tried to post it once and got no feedback so I took it down and the other is an INCREDIBLY dark Lyla one, don't know if anyone would be interested in that, but we'll see. Anyway, thank you to all who have reviewed and enjoy! :)

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**Chapter 22: Sophie's Future**

"Mikhail…I'm…I'm taking my leave of absence," she announced.

I said it.

On the phone. With an angry Russian. Who hadn't had his coffee yet. Who I woke up because I'm stupid and can't remember time changes.

He's going to kill me, Sophie thought, her eyes shut tight, the phone pressed against her cheek. Just say something Mikhail, come on. Fire me. Yell at me. Do something to me. He wasn't really the one who had authority to make those decisions, but he could heavily influence those who did.

Sophie just heard his deep breathing on the other end. He was probably not even paying attention to her. She sat down on the table in her studio, waiting for a response from him. She was about to say something, a couple minutes later, when Mikhail finally spoke.

"Did the physician see your foot?" he demanded.

She nodded quickly. "Yeah, but…this isn't about my foot. I just…I want to do this thing and then I'll be back, I promise."

"You know Sophie you're good, but…the Bolshoi expects commitment."

The Bolshoi will expect me to be my best. The greatest. I can do that now and I can do that in a year, once I'm done with this…this side project she wanted to do. She stood up from the table, her phone still pressed to her ear. "I want to just…do this thing Mikhail. Broadway."

"Ah, Broadway."

No, don't say it like that. I'm not acting or singing or anything, I'm choreographing. It wasn't even officially 'official.' Mark still had to hire her on, start getting her into a studio, into a workshop with the cast. They still had to finish the Book. There was still a lot to do, but…but Sophie wanted to give this a chance.

The last couple of weeks had shown her that …well hell; life couldn't be planned. Not at all. This wasn't planned; it was an opportunity, one she wanted…she wanted to take. Just to see.

I've got a lot I want to do; the Bolshoi will happen. I know it will. And I'll take the time off to baby my foot, just to make sure that it doesn't come back to bite me in the ass. In some ways Noah had shown her that.

She finished the phone call with Mikhail, accepting his congratulations on the Broadway gig and assurances that if she were to return in a year, she would still have a place, provided she 'still had it.' Oh I will, she promised him.

Sophie set her phone down, walking out of the barn and making her way to the house. She'd finished packing everything; the tiny flat she had in London was just a place for her to put her head. All it contained was a couple bits of furniture and her dance clothes. Which was basically her entire wardrobe.

She'd get rid of it and ship her things back to New York City; she would have to talk to Uncle Jason about maybe crashing in his townhouse in the city while she worked. The workshop would be unpaid until they could get a backer. She had a lot to do and what seemed like little to no time to do it.

Things had returned sort of to normal. The police were talking to Lyla about her money which had shown up. She knew that Tim had gotten a couple phone calls from his father, who was living in Austin now.

She hoped for his sake, for at least one of their sakes, that his father would be…good.

Sophie wondered where that money had come from…who had put it there and called the police on it. She knew Lyla had given it to her father, but…who took it? Who killed her father for money they just ended up giving back to the police?

Don't think about it. It wasn't worth it anymore.

She entered the house, finding Tyra pouring milk into a mixing bowl of Lucky Charms and Cheerios. "Wow, that's a lot," Sophie commented, closing the door behind her.

"Yeah, my twins apparently are obsessed with Lucky Charms. I had a dream about them last night."

"Your twins or Lucky Charms?"

"Lucky Charms," she mumbled. Tyra spooned up a mountain of marshmallows, taking a bite, sighing in pleasure, her eyes closing. "So good."

"When are you going to Dallas to see Todd?"

"He's going to come here, he should be here today, I didn't want to spend a week in stinky Dallas anyway."

"So you'd rather deal with Riggins drama here?" she questioned, chuckling at Tyra's eyeroll. Yeah. Every visit was Riggins drama. She left Tyra to her cereal, finding Max and Tim sitting in the recliner, watching football. Tim had his arm over his head, holding the remote; barely blinking at the flatscreen, while Max just bounced his feet from where he was lying back in the crook of Tim's arm, like a football.

Sophie glanced at the screen. "What are you watching?"

"Preseason game. Cowboys and Browns. Go Cowboys."

Shut up, she thought, leaning against the recliner, watching as the camera focused on Noah when he intercepted a pass, taking off down the field for a touchdown. Yay! "Damnit," he mumbled, seeing the Cowboys drop by yet another touchdown.

"Get over it," she said, kissing his cheek and smiling. She sat on the edge of the armrest, leaning back against the top of the recliner.

She reached her hand down to tug on Max's little '33' hat, which didn't bother him, his eyes focused on the TV screen. "Think he knows what's happening?" she wondered.

"Hmm," Tim mumbled, his eyes still on the TV. He barely breathed during football games. He finally tore his attention from the game to her during a commercial break. He cleared his throat. "So when are you going back to London?"

"Tomorrow," she whispered. It sucked. I'm going to miss you. The kids. All of them. She leaned down, kissing his forehead, her arm wrapping around his neck in a half-hug. I love you Tim.

Her eyes closed, just holding him for a second. It was hard for her to do; as well as him. They weren't quite big on the whole touchy-feely thing. He touched his fingers to the arm around his neck, saying nothing until she pulled back, sliding a little farther down on the large armrest, and her arm still around his neck. "What was that for?" he whispered, his eyes on hers.

Questioning.

Can't I just hug my big brother? Probably not, it wasn't what they did. Her way of truly saying she loved him or greeting him was tackling him to the ground. Or punching him. They were a very affectionately violent family.

She lifted her shoulder in a silent 'because I can' answer. There were other reasons. Sophie looked down at Max, who was just looking around. Not really seeing anything, but taking it all in. He was gumming on Tim's finger, ignoring the pacifier clipped to his t-shirt.

I just want to say that I love you, she thought, lifting her eyes from Max to Tim, who was still waiting on an answer. "I just," she sighed, smiling a little, blinking quickly, her hair tossed over her shoulder. "Coming back for Mom's anniversary…I didn't expect any of this to happen, I mean…it's been rough."

"Your dad died," he whispered. Tim smiled. "Of course it was rough."

"And your dad came back and seems to be making amends…" She glanced down at him; he immediately looked away. Yeah. Other things happened too. She ran her tongue over her teeth. You're protecting me. I thought we had this discussion. She sighed, smiling in understanding.

You love me.

She pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing slightly. He cocked his head, concerned. "What?" he whispered.

"Nothing," she answered. I guess I just have to deal with how sometimes you aren't going to tell me everything. You love me. You protect me. She leaned down again, hugging him tight once more.

And suddenly she didn't want to let go.

Tim wrapped his free arm around her, his head resting against hers. After a few moments of quiet, he whispered. "You're going to be in New York. That's a lot closer than London, you know."

"Yeah," she mumbled into his shoulder.

"And the kids are due for a visit to their Uncle Jason."

She smiled at that. Jason still didn't know about her and Noah. That should make the next visit considerably more interesting. Well…if there really was a 'her and Noah' at that moment. They were in their holding pattern, until both were ready for something more.

I don't know how that is going to work, but…it was better than nothing.

Tim licked his lips, peering up at her. "How are you gonna' tell Jason about you and Noah?"

How am I? More like how is Noah. She shrugged, climbing off the chair, picking Max up and cradling him against her chest. "There is no Noah and me right now. We're waiting." Waiting, that's what he called it, so that's what they were doing.

"For what?"

"The right time," she murmured, swaying from side to side, holding Max, who was peering around, his fingers curling into her shoulder. I've been here for about two and a half weeks and it feels like this kid has grown half his size in that time.

And, she thought, glancing down at Tim, who was tugging on his wedding ring, so have you big brother. "You contemplating going without that thing?" she asked him. He glanced up. "Because," she said, shrugging. "I'm thinking Lyla won't like it when girls go hitting on you."

"She only punched that girl the one time," Tim mumbled.

Sophie's eyes widened. "I was kidding."

"Wish I was."

Tyra stepped into the living room, her hand on her swelled stomach, which was considerably more noticeable now that everyone knew she was pregnant. "Not that I don't love the both of you, but can we keep the crazy subsided while Todd is here? I've managed to stay married to him for five years without him fully comprehending what goes on in Dillon, Texas and I'd really like to keep it that way."

Sophie and Tim both looked at her, innocent. "I don't know what you're talking about," Tim commented, his voice flat. Maybe he honestly believed it, Sophie thought with a smile.

"Yeah, me either," she piped up. Lies, damn liars, the both of them.

Her sister-in-law raised an eyebrow, her hands going to her hips. "Well let's see there was the incident with the cow…"

"That wasn't me, that was Billy who tipped it," Tim said, flicking the channel to another sports network now that it was halftime.

Tyra ignored him, continuing, ticking the incidents off on her finger. "There was the time when Lyla got drunk and started spilling everyone's secrets…"

"And that wasn't my fault, everyone thinks it is, I thought I was giving her punch, not vodka," Sophie said. It really was an honest mistake. How was she supposed to know that Nicky and Ricky had spiked everything? Lyla was the one who kept drinking it and then grabbed the microphone at Buddy's and proceeded to start spilling all the dirt she knew.

It didn't matter to Tyra. "And then there was when Mindy's strippers crashed a party with my in-laws who happen to be the most WASPy people ever…"

Now that wasn't me, Sophie thought, glancing at Tim, who spoke. "That wasn't me, that was Lyla who called Sugar for some dance moves because it was my birthday," Tim said, smiling a little and ignoring the headslap Tyra gave him. He pointed the remote towards her. "You're the one who brings him here. He's gotta' deal with the crazy when he's here."

While the two of them bickered like siblings, which they tended to do more than Tim, Billy, and I bicker, she thought, Sophie carried Max out of the living room, wondering where Lyla and Annie were. She heard sounds upstairs, choosing to go investigate.

Her bare feet were silent on the hardwood stairs; Max was equally quiet. He was so mellow. It kind of made her think of Tim in a baby version. She stopped outside of the cracked door to Annie's room, peering inside and seeing Annie sitting on the floor, bedecked in jewelry and makeup, wearing a crown.

Lyla sat across from her, dabbing a brush in a pot, leaning forward to sweep it over Annie's cheeks, turning them from pale pink to a bright red. "What do you want to do after this?" she asked her daughter.

Sophie leaned against the doorframe, watching, a small smile flirting on her lips. She glanced down at Max, whose head was lolling back against her elbow, fast asleep.

Annie puckered her lips for some glittered lip-gloss, smacking them and giggling. "I want to have a tea party," she said. She handed Lyla a rope of glittery beads to wrap around her neck. "And I want to bring Daddy and Sophie and even Max."

"What about Tyra?"

"Yes and Tyra."

"And Chewbacca too?"

"Yes," the little girl giggled, reaching for her cotton-ball dog, which was sleeping beside her. She grabbed him under his midsection, trying to lift him up and over to sit with her, but he was too heavy for her to carry, so she let him fall back down to the floor, where he rolled over, continuing to sleep.

Lyla leaned back against the post of the four-post bed, holding a boa in her fingers, watching Annie, who began to chatter about her tea party. They would have cake and ice cream and cereal and lots of tea, but she didn't like tea, so they would pretend that juice was tea, because she liked juice.

It took a minute of watching for Sophie to realize that the wetness on her face was her tears.

I didn't get that, she thought, trying not to sob, her teeth clenching down on her lower lip. I didn't get to sit and have tea parties with my mom. I don't remember. All I know was I would sit with her in bed, whether at home or in the hospital, and I would hold her and tell her that she would get better.

And she never did.

Tim did tea parties with her, so did Billy, and Mindy and Tyra, but…it wasn't the same. It wasn't her mother.

I miss her so much, she thought, quickly wiping at her eyes.

It absolutely killed her that in almost the last two weeks since Jack died…she'd barely thought of him. Jack McConnell. All he was was half of her DNA makeup, but even that wasn't completely true, because she was nothing like him.

I'm a good person, she thought briefly. She looked down at Max, who was beginning to snuffle a little. I should get you to your crib, she thought, stepping away from the door towards his bedroom, on the other side of the hall.

"Sophie? Is that you?"

She turned, seeing Lyla pulling the door open a little wider, stepping out, her hands still wrapped in the boa. She smiled quickly. "Yeah it's me, sorry…I just…I'll let you guys get back to having dress-up time."

"Oh, she's preoccupied," Lyla chuckled, leaving Annie to her own devices, walking over and reaching her hand to brush her cheek of tears. She smiled again, gentle. Loving. Very Lyla, Sophie mused. "How are you doing sweetheart?"

I'm okay. That's just…the truth. She nodded slowly, not breaking eye contact with Lyla, who she swore could see everything. "I'm okay," she whispered, turning and taking Max into his room, setting him down in his crib. She straightened up, her hand on the bar of the crib, the other kind of just tossing up in the air. She sighed. What was there to say?

Luckily, it was Lyla.

Who reached for her, wrapping her up tight, smoothing her hand over her hair and whispering. "You'll be fine," she assured her.

"Yeah," Sophie sighed, just needing someone to hug. Which was rare for her. She wiped at her eyes, pulling back, whispering. "Tim seems okay…much better than he was before."

"Tim's resilient," Lyla answered, matter-of-fact. She lifted her shoulder, whispering. "He can get over things faster than most people because he doesn't face them. It's not healthy, but it's how he copes and…and I think he's faced this. I think he's faced it all and now he just knows he can't change it or do anything about it so he'll be happy and move on with his life."

We could all do that. Sophie pushed her hand through her hair, shaking it back down her shoulders. "I just," she sighed, looking down at her feet, lifting her eyes up once more to Lyla. I don't want to know, I really don't, but… "It just seems so neat and pretty, you know? My dad brings back Tim's dad…my dad ends up dead with a ton of cash missing and that money ends up at the police?"

Lyla shook her head, breathing deep for a second. She finally lifted her eyes up, whispering. "If you really want to know the answers Sophie, you can go down to the police station and ask. You can tell them as his daughter you want to know the full truth that happened…have them make more of an effort."

If you really want.

And that's the thing, I really don't. I just want it over.

Sophie shook her head, not saying anything more on it. She was sure Tim's dad had something to do with hers. She just…didn't know whether she was happy about that or upset by it. Or neither. The amount with which this entirely unaffected her was kind of scary. Then she'd remember that she had no association with the guy. He was a person out there.

And that was all.

"What time do you leave?"

She was pulled back to reality, blinking a couple times, trying to remember. "Um," she mumbled, pushing her palm to her forehead, whispering. "Tomorrow…I leave at ten I think…I have a transfer in Dallas and then New York before I get on the late night flight to London."

"Long day."

Yeah, it was going to suck. She still had so much to do. Sophie ran her tongue over her teeth, glancing at Lyla, who was still waiting on her to say something. Say what? Do what?

She sighed. "What do you want to know?"

"What happened with you and Noah? Are you guys going to continue to see each other?"

I don't really know, just…Sophie shrugged, her arms crossing over her chest slowly, wrapping around herself. "I have plans and so does he," she whispered. She shook her head slightly. "I'm coming back to New York to work on that musical…then it's going to be back to the ballet, wherever that is…London or New York or…Bolshoi. I still want it Lyla…this stupid foot won't stop me."

"That's good," she whispered. Lyla stepped closer towards her, looking down at Max, an eyebrow arching. She bit her bottom lip, before leaning in to stroke his dark hair back from his face. "You know," she said. She shook her head, smiling warmly in a memory. "I was kind of the same as you. I came back home because I didn't know what to do with myself…I wasn't hurt and sent home or anything, but…I was roughly the same age and…and then this boy came into my life again. Or rather, he kind of barged his way in again…"

I think I know that boy, Sophie thought, listening intently.

"Our situations are not much different. You love Noah and I love Tim. I knew he was…the one I guess you could say. The love of my life. I've only loved two men. When they weren't even men," Lyla laughed, glancing sideways, biting her lower lip. She shrugged her shoulders, whispering. "I was engaged to a man before Tim. His name was Rick. He was very sweet, he was a fellow business guy, a restaurant guy…I honestly thought I loved him and I would marry him, until after a year I hadn't even bothered setting a date. He finally just had enough of it and we parted, because I realized they were all placeholders. Every one of them. I was going to end up back in Dillon once I finished everything I wanted to do…and I did."

"And maybe it took a long time and…and Tim and I wasted so much time, we should have just stayed together, but…that wouldn't have allowed him to do what he wanted and raise you." Lyla sighed again, smiling wide. "But I've been there Sophie. I…I've been where you are, where you're torn. You don't want to be. Hell, I was 15 and I was engaged to Jason Street! I was an idiot girl with these fantasies and it just took a lot of stuff happening for me to see that I could do what I wanted. That you didn't have to find the love of your life that young. You can, people do, but…I didn't."

But it isn't a bad thing, Sophie agreed, smiling. People got married young, stayed married, and had a life. Uncle Eric and Aunt Tami, for one, she thought. Not that she was planning on marrying Noah Street anytime soon.

Lyla touched her hand to her shoulder, whispering close, like they were sharing a secret. "Take your time and have your life and don't feel guilty about it Sophie. After everything you've gone through, you deserve to have what you want. Even if it means you only hold out for one boy."

Yeah, she thought, smiling at Lyla. Thank you. "I just want things to be okay again," she whispered.

"They will be. This was just a bump in the road."

Yeah.

Sophie looked up when she heard the door open and Annie start squealing about presents. She sighed at Lyla's eyeroll. "No love for Todd?" she chuckled. She'd only met Tyra's husband a couple of times. He wasn't a bad guy.

"No love for my spoiled daughter who he gives presents to. She thinks whenever people visit they should bring her something," Lyla groaned, swiping the baby monitor from the dresser and closing the door behind her so Max could get some peace and quiet. What little of that there was in the Riggins household.

She headed down the stairs, remaining at the base of them, smiling and watching as Todd, Tyra's husband, tried to get Annie off of his leg, as she had attached herself there, begging him for a new present like he brought her last time. The kid couldn't remember what she had for breakfast the day before but she remembered what Todd had gotten her for Christmas. It had been a life-size stuffed pony.

He was kind of an awkward match for Tyra. Who must have had a thing for geeks of some sort, because Sophie knew about Tyra's friend Landry; they dated in high school and he was a total nerd, in a good way.

Todd was a lawyer for some studio in Hollywood. He'd met Tyra when he'd been on a set that she was providing professional consultation on. He was tall, with sandy blond hair, thin wire-framed glasses, a permanently wrinkled shirt, and dimples. He was very attractive, but just kind of gawky. A klutz, Sophie remembered, compared to glamorous Tyra.

"Hi there Annie, could you please, ow, um…stop…" Todd mumbled, trying to get Annie away from him. He tossed one of his bags into the playroom. "It's in there!"

Like a dog chasing a steak, Annie let go, diving into the bag. Tim just stared at her. "I think we are going to have to have a talk about this selfish behavior young lady," he called.

"Whatever!" Annie yelled.

Sophie smiled, leaning against the banister, watching everyone hug and kiss hello. She ducked her head, peering through her bangs when Tyra took Todd's hand, leading him alone, hearing Todd ask rather bluntly if she'd been working out because she looked a little puffy.

Yeah, that's going to come back to bite you in the ass, she thought, leaning on the banister, smiling at her brother. "What?" Tim demanded.

"Nothing."

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Who's winning?"

He just blinked. "Your boyfriend is taking cheap shots."

"He's not my boyfriend."

"Keep saying that, it's what I said about Lyla."

"Excuse me?" Lyla laughed, slapping his shoulder. She crossed her arms over her chest, shaking her head, chuckling. "I don't think so. You were the one begging me to be your girlfriend. Every time."

"And you said yes, so what's that say about you?" he teased back, pinching at her waist.

Sophie rolled her eyes when Lyla warned him, but Tim did it again, only to get her chasing after him. "You both are 40!" she reminded them, when they both started yelling, running out of the house in the backyard like a couple of teenagers.

She chuckled, turning and going into the house, bouncing on her feet.

Which didn't hurt anymore.

In fact, very little seemed to hurt anymore, she thought, scooping up Annie to hang out, while her parents acted like idiots outside.

The next day, Sophie stood outside of the security gate, shifting her tote bag on her shoulder, while Tim just looked around. It was always like this, when they said goodbye. She wiped at her eyes, blinking through tears. Annie had cried nonstop when she left, saying that she hated her, she was never going to speak to her again.

I hate having to say goodbye, even if it isn't really goodbye.

Even Max, the four-month old, had been a bit upset, but he may have just been sensing everyone else's upset. Especially Annie.

She looked up at Tim, smiling shakily. "I'm just going to New York, it's not even like I'll be in London long, you can still visit me."

"Count on it," he whispered, reaching to tug on the strap of her tote bag. "You got everything? Here…" He shoved a roll of cash into her bag.

"Tim. I don't need that." I have a trust fund. That I don't touch, but oh well. She sighed, knowing that if she gave it back to him he'd be offended and would get all annoyed at her.

She tossed her hair from her eyes, whispering, looking straight at him. They were pretty much the same height. "I love you," she whispered, shaking her head, thinking of all that had happened in the last three weeks. It was practically indescribable.

From fathers on her end to his to death and sadness and new jobs opportunities and Noah Street…she felt like she'd gone through a washing machine. Completely wrung out and tossed to dry.

Her big brother smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Love you too," he breathed. He shook his head. "You and Noah Street…what am I going to say to Jason?"

"So we're done with the sad goodbyes, huh? We've been through this."

"No, we haven't."

"Topic for another day," Sophie teased, smiling wide. Tim could never just leave goodbye as a goodbye. She glanced at her watch. It was time to go. "My plane is going to board soon."

"Better go catch it."

Yeah. She wrapped her arm around his neck, hugging him close, her eyes closing. "It's been insane."

"Understatement."

"You'll be fine."

Tim let her fall back to her feet, her foot now out of the boot and simply wrapped in an ace bandage for support in her tennis shoes, rather than her preferred ballet flats. He smiled, his eyes kind of glassy. "So will you kid."

Sophie knocked her knuckles into his, in a sibling sort of fashion, stepping backwards, shrugging and laughing as she spun around. "I'm a Riggins, what can I say?"

"You say that like it's a bad thing!"

She grinned, giving him one last wave before she presented her ticket and driver license for TSA. When she turned, he was gone.

Tim wasn't much for goodbyes.

Didn't matter, she'd see him soon.


	23. Epilogue 1: Tim's Other Dad

**Epilogue 1: Tim's Other Dad**

"Ah!" Max yelled, smashing his fists into the cake set in front of him, laughing and holding up fistfuls of chocolate and vanilla, smearing it on his face as he attempted to eat it, his fingers rather dainty as he picked it up.

"Nice," Tim said, leaning over and readjusting the bib on Max's chest that read 'Birthday Boy.' He ruffled Max's dark hair, which stuck up in an almost perfect Mohawk, through neither his nor Lyla's intervention.

"Sweetie move him a little more to the right, I need a better shot."

"Garrity I'm not your sweetie."

"Third Baby," Lyla barked.

Damnit. He sighed, turning Max a little in the chair so she could get a better shot. He glanced up, shrugging a shoulder. "You done?"

"Not yet." Lyla continued to take more pictures of the birthday boy smashing into his cake. It was their private family celebration, just he, Lyla, and the kids, until later that evening when everyone else would come over for the bigger party. He still had to get to Buddy's and pick up all the liquor, since it was more of an adult party than anything.

He made a face at Max, who grinned, his eyes lighting up, fat pink cheeks covered in chocolate cake. He shook his head, chuckling and stepping towards the table to sit with Annie, who was delicately eating her cake, when the doorbell rang.

Max squealed again, throwing his cake on the ground, where Chewbacca swiped it in one lick. He laughed, reaching to drop another piece on the ground. "No," Lyla warned, grabbing his hand, and shaking her head. "No."

He narrowed his eyes, but did nothing, just shoved his fingers into his mouth again, laughing. It was something Max had now been doing for the better part of a year. Tim figured he was probably the happiest baby in the universe, with the amount of laughing he did. It was more than crying.

The kid squealed again, leading Annie to yell at him to stop. He was probably leaning over to try to steal her food. Tim ignored them, leaving Lyla to it and walked over to the door, slowly pulling it open.

To reveal Sophie.

"What up?" Sophie exclaimed, waving her hands in the 'rock on' sign. She grinned, reaching into her bag, holding up a canvas wrapped statue. "For you."

"This is it?" he yelped, stepping into the house, not even saying hello to his little sister, ripping into the canvas. He laughed, holding the statue, grinning at her. "Congratulations."

"Yup, it's all mine," Sophie said, kissing his cheek. She let go of him, leaving him standing in the foyer, not even wondering about her appearance, bounding into the kitchen, where he heard Annie and Max start going off, along with a hormonal Lyla, who he could hear crying.

Tim studied the statue, staring down at the gold plated label at the base, his thumb running over the engraving. American Theater Wing Tony Award. Featured Actress in a Musical. Sophie Riggins. Friday Night Lights.

Wow, he thought, shaking his head. She wanted the Bolshoi and she got Broadway. He carried the award carefully into the living room, placing it on the mantle, next to the photograph that Lyla had framed of her in a magazine, in her cheerleader outfit as 'Charity', slinking between the actor who played, well, him and then the one who was taking on Jason. It was one of the songs that all the girls in the musical sang, about getting their guys.

She'd started choreographing and ended up being asked to sing for the part, finally winning it. Sophie could do whatever she wanted.

He angled the award a little, so it caught the sunlight, smiling. She'd told him she planned on giving it to him. That it all kind of started with him. When he'd encouraged her to continue to dance, as a kid. To do whatever she wanted if it made her happy.

I'm just happy you're happy, he thought, stepping away from the fireplace, looking up when he heard a car door slam outside. He glanced at the kitchen; Sophie was holding Max, who was smearing chocolate cake on her face.

Maybe…she didn't say if Noah was coming.

Jason was in town to visit his parents; he'd be by later for the birthday party. Maybe Noah had come along to see his father too…he approached the door slowly, waiting a moment. There was a strange sense of foreboding hanging over him.

He didn't think it was bad.

Just open the door and stop overthinking.

Tim did just that, opening up the door, staring at his father, who was standing at the base of the steps. He blinked a few times. They hadn't seen each other in awhile. Christmas, he thought. About five months ago. Maybe two months since that.

He still wasn't close with the man, but Walt was making an effort. It was on him, his father had told him, that he wouldn't make a move until his son did. Which made sense, Tim just…he forgot about him a lot of the time.

"Hello," he greeted him, stepping out of the house. He crossed his arms over his chest. What an…odd surprise. He stepped off the porch. "What are you doing here?"

"It's Max's birthday," Walt said, passing him a box. He ran his hand over his hair, whispering. "Thought I'd drop this off."

A present.

He took the box, shifting it in his hands, lifting his eyes up, nodding slightly. "Thanks." That was nice of you. He swallowed hard. Might be good to say that. "That's nice of you…thank you." I'm sure Max will like it, his inner voice prompted him.

His inner voice sounded like Garrity. It drove him insane.

He rolled his eyes at the inner voice. "Um…Max will like it, I'm sure."

Walt shrugged, stepping backwards towards his truck. "Yeah, well…it's just a football."

Then he will like it. He started cutting his teeth on a football. He bit down on his tongue, dropping his eyes to the box. It was a goodwill gesture, so to speak. At Christmas he'd brought both kids plastic golf clubs. It was…he was trying. Staying quiet and far away, but he was still trying.

Tim lifted his eyes up from the box, whispering. "Do you want to come inside?" he offered. Please don't say no. This is me trying. Honestly trying here. He moved his jaw around from side to side, hearing it crack. He lifted his shoulder, whispering, trying to smile, but it didn't quite meet his eyes. "Max is…getting cake all over himself and…it's just us, no…no one else."

No Billy or Mindy or your other grandchildren. No Coach Taylor.

"Tim!"

He looked up, clearly he spoke too soon, seeing Buddy Garrity driving up in a new sportscar. I thought you went through your mid life crises, what this is, end of life crisis? He sighed, glancing at Walt, who suddenly looked like a deer in headlights. "I can get rid of him," he whispered. I'll just tell him Lyla is in a mood and didn't want to see Angela.

That usually sent Buddy running. He hated the discord between his wife and daughter, so did Tim, but he figured it would never go away, even if Angela did love her step-grandchildren to death.

Walt shook his head quickly, chuckling. "No, that's okay. Buddy," he greeted.

Buddy emerged from the car, followed by Angela, who gave Walt a saucy smile before she was moving up to the house, chattering about her grandchild turning one and how old that made her. Tim said nothing, glancing at his father and his father-in-law. "Walt," Buddy said, his voice even. He offered his hand. "How are you? Been since what? Christmas?"

"I'm fine and yes."

"Lyla inside?" Buddy said, gesturing to the house, not waiting for an answer before he made his way up into the house. Tim could hear Annie start to squeal for her Grandpa Buddy a minute later.

"You don't have to stay," he whispered, knowing this might be uncomfortable for Walt. He shrugged. "There's a party later, it's just…everyone will be there. Might be weird."

"I'll stay," Walt decided, obviously trying hard. He stepped towards the house, his arms crossing over his chest. "I saw that Sophie got some award. Is that a big deal?"

"Huge deal in her circle. Call it an Oscar." That's how Sophie had explained it to him, when she'd called to let him know she'd been nominated. She was finishing up her run in a few weeks, before she was off to the stage to be principal dancer with ABT. Her foot had become a thing of the past.

"Wow."

"Yeah." He stepped up into the house, holding the gift, carrying it into the living room, where he saw Lyla leaning over and trying to lift one of the big boxes with one of Max's new toys. Apparently it was present time. He set down Walt's gift, rushing over to grab it from her. "Geez Garrity! Ask for help!"

"I'm five months pregnant Tim, I'm fine!"

Yeah, but you're pregnant at your age.

Lyla lifted her eyebrow, whispering. "Third Baby."

How long are you going to hold that against me, he sighed, setting down the box, leaning against it, trying to put his puppy dog eyes on. She'd been immune to them for years, but maybe they'd still work. "I love you," he whispered, cocking his head slightly, trying not to smile, but seem a bit upset that she was angry with him. "And I love the baby."

For good measure, he placed his hand on the very small swell of her stomach. Compared to Max and Annie, she'd barely gained a fraction of the weight that she'd had with them at this stage of her pregnancy.

It appeared to have worked, with her giving him a quick kiss and saying nothing, just smiling, stepping around the couch, exclaiming. "Walt!"

Oh yeah, probably should have mentioned that.

Sophie looked up from the couch, where she was holding Max. "Oh."

He leaned down, whispering. "I can ask him to leave," he whispered, suddenly feeling a tad guilty. Not that he'd forgotten she was here, just…it had been almost a year now since her father died and he just…didn't want to stir up memories for her.

She smiled slightly, shaking her head. "I'm fine Tim. Really. It's okay. I just…was surprised." She set Max down on his play mat, where he began to destroy one of his new toys, getting up and going over to say hello to Walt.

It seemed to be okay, he thought, seeing Lyla pick up the gift Walt got for Max, kneeling down next to the baby and helping him open it. He immediately wrapped his arms around the football, babbling a mile a minute. He knew about six or seven words. Ball happened to be one of them.

He smiled, glancing out of the corner of his eye at Buddy, who was standing outside, talking on the phone. He returned his gaze to Walt, waiting a second and smiling slightly when he knelt down to show the football to Max, who just babbled. Lyla of course, had her freaking camera out. She was never without that thing nowadays.

Tim stepped outside, walking down the porch towards Buddy, who was leaning against the porch railing now. "Alright, I gotta' talk to my business manager…yeah, bye." He hung up, smiling. "Tim Riggins."

"Buddy," he greeted him, sizing up the guilty expressing on Buddy's face and the phone. He shook his head. "Lyla told you to stop trying to invest without consulting her."

"She'll live, I've got more than enough money that if I lose a bit, it doesn't matter. She'll just make me more. My daughter's got a head for those sorts of things."

Yes, she did. Tim smiled at Buddy, whispering. "Sorry about Walt, I know how you feel about him."

"Don't feel nothing for the man Tim, just don't like him, never have, never will, but that's my problem not yours, he is your father." Buddy patted his shoulder, his voice dropping. "And as happy as I am that you are…welcoming him back into your life, as steady as it is, I just…just don't want to see you hurt son."

He quirked his lip. Son. Tim took a deep breath, waiting a second, glancing towards Buddy. "You know…you did take me in. After…jail and all that…you let me see Lyla again. Most parents wouldn't want their college graduate daughter dating a parolee."

"Most parents wouldn't want their daughters dating alcoholic football players who have slept with half the town of Dillon's women, but…" Buddy shrugged, smiling. "I let her. Didn't like it, but…at least you were good to her. You hurt her, more than a few times, but…in the end you were good to her. Fathers can't forget that."

No, they couldn't. As a father he was pretty sure that he would hate anyone dating Annie, but so long as they treated her right, he'd have to accept them. He'd done far worse in his life and didn't want anyone like that for his daughter.

It was a funny thing. Tim closed his eyes, whispering. "Even if my dad…even if he stays Buddy. If he stays and he comes by every birthday and holiday and…and whenever…" He lifted his eyes up to Buddy, who was watching him intently. He whispered. "You will always be like a father to me."

And that's pretty much the nicest thing I can probably say. Or at least, that you'd stand there and listen to me say.

Buddy smiled, kind of stupidly. "Well Tim…I think that's the nicest thing you ever said to me."

He smiled. Not like you let me say much to you, he thought. He shrugged. "You didn't ban Lyla from ever seeing me. Could have done that…you could have hated that we got married or…or that she was basically a mom to a fifteen year old," he whispered, lifting his eyes again to Buddy. There was a lot that Buddy could have just said 'no' towards, but he never did.

Buddy glanced at him, before looking at the house. "How is it with her? She still mad at you?"

Why was it my fault that she got pregnant again? She thought once again it was 'The Change' as she called it, whatever that was. Turned out she had another bun cooking. Tim pinned it down as happening in December, when they went to New York City to see Sophie's first performance. Lyla had had waaaay too much to drink at the after-party and well, one thing led to another and two months later she was storming through the front door, beating him with a book, crying about how just when she'd weaned Max and had him sleeping through the night, she had to be pregnant again.

So began the 'Third Baby' comment she said whenever she wanted something. He did it all without question, not ever bringing up that it was her idea, all drunk and crazy and impatient. The things I do for love, he always sighed, letting her have her way always.

The door opened, breaking Tim's thoughts towards Buddy, looking up as Annie wandered out, holding her arms up. "What's up?" he asked, reaching down to lift her up, setting her beside him on the railing. He kissed the top of her head. "You okay?"

"Max is being stupid."

They still hadn't really warmed up to each other. Now with a new baby on the way, Tim was wondering if Annie would take up her threat from a couple years ago to run away. He made a note that he had to do something with her, just the two of them.

"Aw, he's a baby, he's not stupid. Just really messy, like you."

Annie gave him a look like 'hell if I was ever messy.' He'd have to break out the photos of her eating spaghetti when she was three. Messy. She wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him and looking over at the house again. "Daddy who is Walt?"

She'd asked him that each time Walt showed up. Obviously she knew he was something more than a friend. She was perceptive like that. Tim sighed, his arm going around her, holding her close. Buddy got up, leaving them and going inside. He glanced down at her, whispering. "Walt is…"

He ran his tongue over his teeth, whispering. "Walt is my dad."

"You have a daddy?"

Lyla told him that a year ago, after the whole thing with Walt and Sophie's father…she'd started asking questions, but they dropped immediately and she could barely remember them anyway. He nodded, whispering. "I have a dad. Just like you. Just like Mommy."

"So he's my grandpa?"

In so many ways, but…Tim hesitated, biting his lower lip. He glanced down at her again, whispering. "He's just Walt. For now."

"Okay." Annie hopped off the railing, holding her hand up for him. "Can Sophie dance for me tonight please?"

"You'll have to ask Sophie."

"She got a trophy. She said I could hold it."

"You can. But be careful, it's a very special trophy." He stepped back into the house, letting go of her hand and watching as Annie walked over to Walt, announcing that he was her grandpa, but she could call him Walt, was that okay? It was, according to him. Annie nodded briskly, turning and walking over to Sophie to demand a dance.

"Our daughter is going to rule the world one day."

Tim chuckled, glancing down at Lyla. She had her hands on her stomach. "How is Oops today?"

"Oops is fine. Kicking me, but fine."

They didn't want to know if it was a boy or a girl. They'd found out with both kids, now that it was the third, they didn't care. So he called the baby Oops, because, well, he or she was an oops.

She lifted her face up to his, whispering. "I'm really glad you let Walt come today. This is really good."

Yeah, he supposed so, he thought, standing back in the room, watching Max hand Walt the football that he'd gotten him. He smiled a little. It was good, yeah. He gave her a quick side-hug. "I love you."

"Me too," she replied, kissing his cheek and letting go, walking over to sit down beside Walt, reaching for Max and tugging him into her lap, wiping his face of leftover chocolate crumbs and icing, while Annie told Buddy and Angela all about school.

He saw Sophie approach him. "What's up?" he whispered.

Sophie nodded her head towards the porch. They both stepped outside and off towards where he'd just left a minute before. She turned, smiling and holding up her left hand.

Tim blinked. "What am I looking at?"

"My ring."

"That's a twist-tie."

"It's a ring," she protested, stretching her hand out to better view the red twist-tie wrapped around her left ring finger. She smiled, hopping up on the trailing. "Noah proposed after the Tonys. We're not getting married anytime soon, so you don't have to chase him with a shotgun. I've got the Bolshoi to look forward to."

He narrowed his eyes. That hadn't been mentioned in awhile from her. He thought after her turn in Broadway she'd decided to sing and dance for her supper, rather than break her feet in ballet. He lifted his shoulder, saying as much. "What about Broadway?"

"Broadway was…" Sophie shrugged, whispering, glancing down at her fingers. "That was an amazing experience. I had no idea…until I started to sing and…and it was so much fun, but I think I only did it because it was so personal to me. I was basically playing Lyla. It was fun. I don't regret it; especially because I…well I won a damn Tony. I just…ballet is my passion, it's…" She closed her eyes, whispering. "I don't feel like I'm with Mom when I'm on Broadway. I feel like she's there, but…it's not the same."

And it was important to her, to be close to Anne. He stepped towards her, glancing down at the twist-tie. "The millionaire football player can't get you a real ring?" he mumbled, taking her hand, trying not to smile.

Sophie chuckled, lifting her eyes up, whispering. "The millionaire football player is a romantic. It was there, he did it, it's…I know we were going to wait, but…we were together at the Tonys and I just…" She closed her eyes, sighing hard. "I never felt like that before. I just didn't want to say goodbye the next day. I couldn't do it."

He felt his lip curve upward, but not in a full smile. Good, he thought, reaching to hug her, whispering. "I love you Sophie, whatever you do or whoever you're with, but hell…you're still five to me."

She laughed, breaking away, whispering. "I'll always be five to you." She squeezed his hands, glancing down at them before lifting her face upward. "I'm really happy you're letting Walt back in your life, I mean…one of us should have a father who wants to make amends, right?"

It came out kind of sad, but…accepting. You've been through a lot in your life, Tim thought, nodding slowly. He shook his head. "I don't know what my dad had to do with yours…"

"It's ancient history," Sophie interrupted.

It was barely a year ago.

He wrapped his arms tighter around her. "You want to go see Mom tomorrow?"

"I'd like that."

I thought you might. They'll pick some flowers; maybe take Annie. He'd let Billy know, in case he wanted to come, but probably not. Sophie linked her arm into his, leaning against it. "I don't mourn my father," she whispered, lifting her eyes to his. She shrugged. "I mourned what could have been…something like Anne. Or even your dad, honestly wanting to change himself and at the same time doing it…carefully. But it's fine because…well because I didn't ever have him in my life. It'd be like mourning a ghost…they were never there to begin with."

You are…Tim ran his tongue over his teeth, looking down at her. He shook his head, whispering. "How can you possibly be that little girl who came into my house and promptly started to ask me questions?"

She smiled, long and slow, mimicking his. She lifted her shoulder, as if to say 'I have no idea.' Maybe she didn't. "People grow up," she answered, letting go of him and walking towards the house, disappearing inside.

People did grow up.

Tim lifted his head, looking through the wide window at his family in the living room. Lyla was holding a crying Max, while Annie shouted about how something wasn't her fault. Walt just looked a tad bewildered at the craziness, while Buddy and Angela were fighting. Again.

He twisted his wedding ring on his finger. People grow up was an understatement.

He turned his head, scanning the horizon.

"Tim?"

He glanced sideways, seeing his dad standing in the doorway. "Yeah?"

"I'm…" Walt gestured, clearing his throat. He shrugged. "Lyla said Billy called…was on his way…so…"

Yeah. That probably wasn't going to stop completely. He got up, following his father outside to his truck. He waited a moment, his hands in his pockets. "You know," he said, clearing his throat, shrugging. "Annie and I are probably going to be in Austin in a couple weeks. If you want to…see her without a screaming kid or my pregnant wife yelling at me."

His father smiled, climbing into the truck. "I'd like that. You have my number?"

"Yeah. I'll call, don't worry." I wish you and Billy could start to…make amends. Maybe one day. It worked with Billy and Anne, even when he said no he didn't want a thing to do with her, in the beginning. Tim lifted his hand in a silent wave. "Thanks for Max's football. I'm sure he'll get use out of it."

Walt just smiled. "See you Tim," he whispered, backing out of the driveway.

Tim watched, smiling a little. That wasn't so bad.

And the next time would be a little easier.

Until eventually, he hoped, it wouldn't even be a big deal.


	24. Epilogue 2: Lyla's Blessing

**Epilogue #2: Lyla's Blessing**

"She's so beautiful!"

"Look at her little fingers!"

Annie wrinkled her nose. "What's with her head?"

"Shh," Lyla cooed, readjusting the little '33' cap that once belonged to Annie, Max, and now to Lyanna, a combination of her name and Anne's name. It had been Tim's idea. They planned to call her Lya. She looked up at Annie, whispering. "Your head was like that too."

"No it wasn't," she protested.

"Yes, it was, now stop," Tim warned her, holding Max up against him at the edge of the bed. He kept an arm around the 17-month old, who wanted to investigate. He leaned around Max, whispering. "Not yet, you can see her in a minute."

"Baby," Max said, pointing. He giggled, trying to reach forward again. "Baby. Mommy."

Damnit, now I'm going to cry again, Lyla thought, reaching her hand up to fan at herself. The hormones had been the worst part of this pregnancy. Annie had given her the worst forgetfulness and had come so fast; Max made her gain about fifty pounds and almost killed her with his size, and now little Lya had turned her emotions in an absolute mess.

Sophie picked up Annie, who as still scowling at this new intruder in her life, just when she'd started getting used to Max. The hope was that she'd calm down a bit now that it was a girl and she had a little sister she could dote on. The thaw was already sort of happening; she'd distinctly heard Annie say she wanted to make sure that Lya wore the outfit she'd picked out when she went home from the hospital tomorrow.

The door pushed open slightly, a nurse stepping into the room. "Ms. Riggins?" she whispered, knocking lightly.

"Garrity," Tim corrected, before she could jump on the nurse. It wasn't a big deal to her, but she hadn't officially changed her name and didn't like it when people just assumed.

She shifted Lya from her right to her left arm, the infant making a few sounds of disappointment at the move. It's alright baby, she thought, patting her back lightly. She nodded slightly, looking up at the nurse. "Yeah?"

"You have a visitor, but I'm afraid there's more than the allotted number of people in the room, I'm going to have to ask a few of you to leave," the nurse said apologetically, holding the door open as Tim gathered up the kids, explaining to an annoyed Annie that it was the rules and to say bye to Mommy and Lya.

Sophie remained behind, leaning forward to inspect Lya. "I can't believe she has red hair," she mused, lifting an eyebrow, smiling. "So tell me, who were you hooking up with behind my brother's back? An elf?"

"No," she chuckled, touching a lock of the strawberry-blond colored wisp of hair peeking from beneath the cap. That had been a surprise; when the nurse passed over the newborn, who had almost no hair, save for the few almost reddish wisps. It was the whole dominant vs. recessive genes; she knew that as much. "Anne had reddish hair," she whispered.

Like all the Riggins children, Lya's bluish-tinted eyes at birth were already trending towards a brown-green. They'd come out to be the exact same hazel as Tim, Sophie, Billy, and all their kids. It was kind of nice, to know that that was still continuing.

She looked up when the door opened, expecting her visitor to be Buddy or Angela, or maybe even Jason, since he was in town. Not who it ended up being.

Walt stepped in, holding a small box. "Hello Lyla," he greeted her. He nodded towards Sophie, whose smile instantly became a frown. He ducked his head, whispering. "Sophie."

"Hello," Sophie greeted him, cocking her head curiously. She slid off the bed, crossing her arms over her chest. "What are you doing here?" she asked. It wasn't mean or accusing, just…genuinely curious.

Kind of like me, Lyla thought, her brow wrinkling. She smiled a little, realizing Tim must have called him yesterday, when he was making all the other calls to people letting them know that Lya had arrived, far earlier than scheduled, like all the Riggins kids.

Except for Max. That kid had inherited all of Tim's laid-back coolness and unflappability. Lyla smiled, turning Lya around, whispering and looking up at him. "This is Lya. Lyanna Garrity Riggins."

The door opened again. Great, more visitors, she thought, glancing up and seeing Tim appear. "Dad," he greeted his father. He'd dropped the Walt awhile ago, after he'd shown up at Max's birthday party, a few months before. He frowned a little. "What are you doing here?"

"Thought I'd see my new granddaughter," Walt said, handing him the box. "For you."

Tim flicked the lid off the box, smiling and removing a cigar, with a pink bow around it. He clamped his teeth around it, offering one of the three in the box to Sophie, who wiggled her eyebrows, taking out the cigar and sniffing. "Cuban, nice," she said, glancing at all three of them who were giving her a curious look. "What? I live with a football player. He has friends."

She smiled, lifting her eyebrow, glancing up at Walt. "Well thank you for coming. Needless to say…" She rotated her head towards Tim, glaring at him, her voice tight. "This is the last Riggins child for this family. I intend to ensure this. Permanently."

And he had an appointment with a doctor next week, but he didn't know it yet.

Tim just stared at her. He shook his head. "No."

"Yes."

"What are you guys talking about?" Sophie wondered.

Walt chuckled, shaking his head. "You don't want to know."

See? Lyla smiled, gesturing the baby towards Walt. "Here you go, you can hold her if you want." It had been a very careful last year with him. Infrequent visits. But the visits were a little bit more frequent, all of them on Tim's schedule. She knew even Billy had shown up at the last one; he'd gone with Tim to Austin to see Walt, along with Annie. Under the pretense of visiting Ricky at UT, but he'd gone nonetheless.

Tim flinched slightly when Walt took the baby, holding her awkwardly. "No," he said, correcting him. "Elbow up, hold her head…there. You got it."

"Been awhile," Walt said by way of explanation, looking sideways at Tim, who just shrugged. He glanced down at her and then over to Lyla, chuckling. "You know the red hair? This one had it too."

Tim's eyebrows slammed together. "I did not."

"Yes you did. You had dark red hair. Turned brown by your first birthday."

Sophie giggled. "Ginger!"

He scowled; yeah Tim, that's not going to go away. She sat up a little farther against the propped up pillows behind her, folding her hands in her lap, watching happily as Tim and Walt fussed over the newborn, who began to cry. Like a hot potato, Walt practically bounced her straight into Tim's arms. "What's wrong with her?" he asked.

"She's just being fussy," Tim cooed, making 'tsh' noises to calm down the baby.

You're such a good father, she thought, watching him as all he had to do was make a few faces at the newborn, keeping his really close to hers. He hadn't read a damn book, even when she was pregnant the first time, trying to get him to read about parenting and what was happening to her and what he could do. All he said was that he didn't ever need books to tell him what to do before; he'd be fine now.

And then he'd held Annie for the first time, his face panicked. I've never seen his eyes that wide, they looked like they would bug out of his skull. He could do the whole teenage girl thing; he'd gone through that with Sophie. It was the baby thing he had to learn to deal with.

And he had. Very well, in fact. We all fear becoming our parents, she thought, knowing she was terrified of being the selfish messes that were her mother and father, both of whom cared more where their own satisfaction and needs was coming from than their children's.

Tim's fear was greater, but after Anne…she was glad that he was able to see that not everyone was coming from a bad place. That people could change. Just like he had. Just like Billy had been able to do. And maybe Walt was never going to be Father Knows Best.

Come to think of it, she thought, lifting her eyes up again, focusing on him through the strands of dark hair in her eyes, falling from her ponytail. She'd yet to hear Tim say that Walt truly had apologized and asked for forgiveness for how he'd been when Tim was a kid. He really hadn't.

Maybe he never would. Walt knew the boundaries. He knew how he'd come back into Tim's life. He also knew that Tim was stronger than he'd ever been. He'd cut off that line without blinking if he had to do it. It would hurt him, painfully, and he'd likely suffer from it, but he'd do it.

She cleared her throat. "Sophie do you mind going out to the nurse's station and getting me some more water? I'm suddenly really thirsty."

"Yeah, sure." Sophie stepped around the edge of the bed, the diamond ring on her neck glittering in the stream of sunlight coming in from the window. Noah had finally given her a ring one, but she refused to wear it on her left hand until she absolutely had to. She still wore the twist-tie. Unless she was practicing or performing.

She left the room, closing the door quietly behind her. After a second, she cleared her throat, nodding towards the door again, her voice quiet. I am way too good at this whole manipulation thing, she thought briefly, smiling slightly. "Tim, can you take her back to the nursery? I think I'm going to sleep for a bit, she should probably go down."

He nodded, setting Lya into the little plastic tub she came in, guiding it out of the door, Walt holding it open and making a move to step out with Tim. "No," she whispered, lifting her eyebrow, waiting a beat, for Tim to be out of earshot. She lifted her finger, crooking it, along with the corner of her mouth. "Come here."

"I should probably…" Walt never liked to be alone with her. For good reason. Lyla knew that he was aware she knew about his alleged involvement with Jack McConnell's death, over a year before. That the money she left with Jack was in the possession of the police because of his anonymous tip.

It was the words he'd used with her. The words Tim said he'd used. Protect. I did what I had to do. He'd said at Christmas to her, when she'd managed to get him alone to thank him for coming, that he thought Sophie deserved a better father. He was glad it was his son. Probably was the nicest thing he'd ever said about Tim, even if he'd followed it up with a snark about Tim's patience being thin with the kids.

Like you're one to talk, she'd fired back, before leaving him.

And now they were alone again.

"Close the door," Lyla whispered, noting that it was still open a crack. The hospital doors were so heavy. You had to practically haul them open and closed. She waited, her fingers loose on the top of her blanket, folded gently in her lap.

The door closed, almost a thud echoing in the small private hospital room at Dillon Regional. Lyla lifted her eyes up to his, waiting a beat. She smiled, long and slow, lifting her chin up. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see my son," Walt answered, slightly testy. He crossed his arms over his chest, studying her for a moment, shaking his head. "You still don't trust me."

She lifted her lip up in a smile, her eyebrow rising with it. "No, I don't. I know Tim is growing closer with you. It makes me nervous, because I don't trust you. I know you want me to, but it's going to take a lot longer than with Tim. I'm glad you want back in his life and you are making an effort, but I just wanted to say that if this is any sort of emotional manipulation…"

"It's not," he snapped.

"Good."

Forgive me if I don't completely believe you. She tossed her hair from her face, lifting it up to look at him again. "I just want to make sure that we're clear on this Walt. Okay?"

She opened her mouth to warn him one more time, but it was Walt's turn to speak. "Can I have a turn?" he asked, slightly annoyed. He didn't wait for her, his voice quiet. "I didn't leave, Lyla. I wanted to leave. I wanted to go to Mexico. I didn't. I stayed. I told you I was not Father of the Year. I told you that I did what I thought I had to do and I told Tim that I woke up and had regrets. I don't want those and I'm trying, but I thought what I did was right and I think Tim might still say it was. Okay?"

I highly doubt that, Lyla thought, pursing her lips, her eyebrows furrowing to a point. She shook her head slightly. "How long, though Walt? How long do you think you can do this?"

"As long as I feel I have to. Tim may have said he forgave me…"

"He did."

Walt paused, cocking his head. He frowned. "Excuse me?"

She was now a little confused. Didn't he know? She shook her head, whispering. "He's forgiven you Walt."

He waved his hand. "Well I know he said that, but…"

"No but. You really don't know your son." She laughed a little. Maybe he did need to stick around a bit longer, especially if he wanted to get to know Tim the Man than Tim the Teen. She swallowed hard; I won't keep it from you. Her head cocked slightly, whispering. "Tim isn't going to lie to you Walt. If he didn't want you here, you'd be gone. He isn't going to placate you. If he didn't forgive you, you wouldn't be around his children…he won't lie."

It wasn't like he was a saint. He'd lied plenty of times in his life. When it came to things like this though…he wouldn't lie. She hoped Walt would believe her. Her shoulder lifted, her smile flirting on her lips again. "I am glad that you're in his life again Walt, please don't think I'm not. I just…"

He smiled slightly, his arms wrapping a little tighter across his chest. "You're protective over him," he whispered, shrugging his shoulder. He took another step towards her, barely breathing. "You just want to watch out for him."

"Yes," she answered, smiling.

"Tim doesn't seem like he cares too much."

"That's because he's managed to put up with me this long."

Walt narrowed his eyes, frowning slightly. "How long have you guys…" he let the question falter, probably not even sure how to end it.

Lyla shrugged her shoulder, lifting her eyebrows and sighing. Good question. Could have been that night on the road when she first kissed him. Could have been that time in kindergarten when he pulled her braid and then ran away laughing. Or when Anne returned into his life and she returned to his. It was hard to say. She closed her eyes, whispering. "Forever." That's probably a better answer.

The door opened, Tim stepping back in. "You're still here," he said, seeing Walt. He smiled a little, stepping by him and leaning over to kiss her forehead. "I gotta' take Annie back home. She pushed Max, it's turning into a big deal. Tyra's on her way, Angela's got her twins."

Pete and Repeat, Tyra called them, when in reality they were actually Tommy and Timmy, identical twins that were wrapped around her finger. She even dressed them alike.

She nodded; she was looking forward to seeing her stepsister. It seemed, oddly enough, she was closer with Tyra Collette her onetime frenemy and current stepsister than she was with her real sister.

Tim straightened up, peering over at Walt. He glanced at her, curious, but he wouldn't say anything. She just smiled. "We're fine," she whispered, silently indicating that they really were fine. She tossed her hair from her eyes again, smiling up at Walt. "Right Walt?"

He just tilted his head towards her in silent acknowledgment. "Right."

Tim sighed, shaking his head and climbing off the bed. "Whatever. I'll see you later," he said, kissing her lightly and gently squeezing her wrist, letting his fingers linger in her palm for a moment before he turned completely towards Walt. "Want to get a drink?"

"Celebratory shots, my boy's a dad for a third time," Walt said, clapping Tim on the back. He chuckled. "Of course."

Well that's good, Lyla thought, smiling and watching as Walt and Tim left the room, laughing about something together. She trusted that her warnings to Walt would stick; that he wouldn't up and abandon Tim again. She also trusted Tim.

But sometimes that trust…she just couldn't let go.

Let go Lyla, she heard a voice telling her. It sounded like Tim. I'm fine.

I know you're fine, but sometimes it's hard.

Sometimes it's really hard to just let go.

It'll be fine, she thought, turning her head slightly on the pillow, her eyes closing. Get some rest; she swore her 'Tim voice' said. When you go home tomorrow you're going to have a six-year old, a toddler, and a newborn to contend with. And Tim Riggins.

"Knock, knock."

Lyla opened her eyes, smiling and looking over at Tyra walking into the room, holding a bouquet of pink flowers. "Those are beautiful, are they for me?"

"For Tim."

"Of course."

"Joking," Tyra said, rolling her eyes and setting the bouquet on the counter with the other few bouquets and balloons and cards. She set her purse on the counter, turning and smiling slightly. "I saw Tim and his father leaving. Is that really sticking?"

She nodded, smiling gently. "Yeah," she whispered, her voice faraway, peering out the window at the bright blue sky.

It was sticking.


	25. Epilogue 3: Sophie's Big Break

**A/N:**So here is the end; it ends on a funny/lighter note because these two installments of what (might) be a trilogy of Tim and Sophie and their parents saga has been so serious and dark that I wanted to end it somewhat happy and possibly put in place a third installment that might border on a bit of comedy (if I can bring myself to attempt writing comedy). Thank you to everyone who stuck with this story (which turned into a mega-beast, I had no intention of it being this long) and I hope everyone enjoyed it :) I am working on only one story right now that is not ready for posting, it's Lyla-centric (she is my favorite, after all) and is super-dark. Not sure if anyone would read it, but we'll try posting it once it's ready. Enjoy and thank you for the reviews :)

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**Epilogue 3: Sophie's Big Break**

I did it.

She sat on the stairs of the old farmhouse, staring out at the dark skyline, her eyes closed, breathing deep. It was a decent vacation, to be back here, just to hang out with the family, especially after the whirlwind last few years she'd experienced. It seemed like she was always moving.

First there was the musical. All she did was show up to the workshop to help out with the choreography. Before she knew it, stupid Mark was making her read the role of Charity, the cheerleader, and then she was doing chemistry tests and readings with guys for Tom and Jacob. It wasn't until she was standing in the backstage of the theater, prepping for her cue on opening night did she realize what had happened.

And then that went like crazy, with performance after performance, hearing all the reviews pouring in about the ballet dancer turned Broadway, whose brother was actually the inspiration for Tom the bad boy character who everyone loved, so there was that personal touch to the musical. Then she got her Tony.

And the ABT came calling.

Noah helped her figure it out; told her to decide. Ballet or Broadway. As much as she adored singing and dancing, she was a ballet dancer at heart. So she accepted.

Three years with ABT and then…she got the call.

Bolshoi.

She looked up when the door to the house opened, peering over in the darkness, seeing a little pajama clad boy hurrying towards her. "What are you doing out of bed?" she cooed, reaching for Max, who cuddled into her chest, hugging his blanket against him. She kissed his fine dark hair, which swept over his forehead and fell into his eyes. "Hmm?"

Max looked up, his hazel eyes shining in the moonlight. He never really spoke. He was just…quiet. Tim said he'd speak when he had something to say and he usually did. He smiled, whispering. "Tomorrow I see Grandpa."

"Oh?" Sophie stiffened her back against the post, stretching her feet out in front of her on the steps, her ankles draped through the railing. She sighed, smoothing her hand over his back. "Which Grandpa?"

"Grandpa Walt."

Her eyes opened a little wider, surprised. "Yeah?" she murmured.

"Uh-huh. Daddy said we go to the football game."

Well that was nice of your father. I'll have to talk to him about it. It wasn't like Walt was persona non grata, but…she was glad to see that Tim's relationship with the man had improved significantly over the last five years.

At least one of us deserves a father, she'd told him.

And they'd gone over it so many times; it almost made her dizzy to think about it again. Sophie cuddled Max into her, taking his blanket and draping it over their knees. He rested his small cheek on her shoulder, looking out at the horizon. The moon was huge that night, casting everything with a pearly, other-worldly glow.

It was also relatively cool for summertime.

She closed her eyes, breathing deep with him for a few minutes, her arm over his shoulders. The light was on in the apartment above the barn, where Noah was probably sitting up with a bottle of ibuprofen and packs of ice for his knees. He'd taken a terrible hit the year before, some said it was a sanctioned hit by the other time, and had to have major surgery to rebuild his right knee.

It had been the thing that finally prompted them to get married, in his hospital room, before he went in for another surgery. That day was the day she got a call from Mikhail, from the Royal Ballet, who had talked to some sources of his and said that the ABT was going to get a call from the creative director of the Bolshoi.

"Get your passport ready," he'd said in Russian, before hanging up on her.

I did it, she thought again, glancing down at beautiful little Max. Poor Max, the middle child. It would only be a matter of time before he started to really take on that role. Right now he was still a little confused as why Annie bossed him around all the time and why Lya got whatever she wanted, even if she was almost as old as him.

Max did kind of get pushed aside from time to time, not that Lyla or Tim did it on purpose. He was so quiet. He was well-behaved. He liked to play football and sit with his books. He wore glasses, even though he was five, just like Annie had to eventually. Most of the time he got to hang out with Tim, but a lot of the time he went to his grandparents, because Lyla was dealing with Lya, who was the demanding youngest one and Tim was controlling Annie, the demanding eldest one.

"Sophie?"

"Yes baby?" she whispered, stroking his hair, holding him close.

He tilted his face up, wiping at his nose and pushing his glasses a little farther up on his nose. "When do you go dance more?" he asked, blinking a few times. He smiled. "In the cold place."

The kids didn't get to come see her when she danced at the Bolshoi a few months before. It had been part of a showcase; she'd been invited as possibly one of the more famous female American ballet dancers on the stage at the moment. She'd done her favorite ballet, Don Quixote. The famous pas de deux was her favorite dance.

It had been the second time Tim and Lyla saw her dance there; she was shocked that Tim actually withstood the travel it took from Texas to Russia and managed to be in the country for two days before he wanted to go back.

"Well," she drawled, answering Max's question, reaching to fiddle with her locket. The locket that Lyla gave her. Tim had given Lyla the locket after Anne died, saying that she'd probably have wanted her to have it. Lyla gave it to her, before she went on Broadway, saying that it really belonged to her; that she needed the strength it provided, to have Anne with her on the stage.

_"Besides," she had chuckled, fastening the locket around her neck. "This costume is pretty accurate, but I always wore a necklace…we just need to add it to this costume for good luck."_

The necklace had smacked into her eye when she made one of her entrances doing a forward handspring, but oh well.

She twisted the locket around, glancing down at Max, smiling. "I don't know if…I will go back to Russia. That was kind of a one-time thing, but…maybe. I might be staying in New York."

"That's near here."

About five hours, but yes, nearer to Dillon than Moscow, she thought with a smile, kissing his head again. "Yeah," she whispered, hugging him closer. She glanced down at his small hands. "You know," she drawled. She tossed her hair out of her eyes. "I think that when I'm back in New York, you should come visit me. We can have so much fun together."

"Yes!" Max exclaimed, crawling up her a little, his arms folding on her shoulder, grinning wide, his little teeth evenly aligned and spaced. He nodded energetically. "Yes, yes please!"

"Okay," she chuckled, lifting him up into her arms, taking the blanket with her. She nuzzled his cheek, carrying him inside and up the stairs to his bedroom. "I think you should probably get back to bed. Okay buddy?"

"Okay. Can we do some singing tomorrow?"

"Yes, we'll sing."

"And dance?"

"And dance."

Sophie wondered if the singing/dancing/performance gene had ended up in Max. It certainly wasn't in Annie, who tended to just be dramatic, but clearly had no interest in it. She wanted to play football one day.

Max would play football; he was good, for a five-year old. It was already apparent that he'd have Tim's build when he grew up, based on some photos of Tim when he was Max's age that Lyla had found in Anne's box and had framed.

But he was so damn sensitive. It was like someone took every bit of Tim that tended towards this Byron romantic hero and just magnified it by a million, that was Max. You're going to break so many hearts little one, she thought, kissing the top of his head again as he drifted to sleep against her.

It took a few minutes, but she finally extricated herself from under Max, brushing his hair from his eyes and lifting the blankets up over his shoulders, ensuring he had at least one of his favorite stuffed animals with him.

She walked to the door, leaning against the frame for a moment, smiling at Max. She turned, closing the door to a crack and going back downstairs and to the barn to sleep.

The next day, Max bounded around in one of his many football jerseys, this one a gift from Stevie, who was now working as a certified athletic trainer for the Longhorns, jumping and excited, waiting on Walt to show up.

Sophie sat on the porch, watching him run around the front yard, in his own world, waiting. "Whatcha' thinking?"

She turned her head, looking up at Tim, who came to sit beside her. "Thinking that you're a pretty lucky guy, big brother."

"Oh yeah?" Tim wrapped his arms over the top of the porch swing, his sunglasses shielding his eyes. He scanned the front yard, calling out to Max, who was edging closer and closer to the fence that he'd put up as almost a retaining wall against curious children wanting escape. "Max! Retreat, son!"

Max did an almost about face, tucking his fingers into his mouth, giggling and continuing back to the house. Sophie chuckled, glancing at her brother. "Yeah, you're lucky, you have kids that listen."

"Not always." He poked her shoulder, whispering. "Where's your husband?"

"I told you, he's visiting his grandparents and he'll be back later tonight after he does some work with his charity."

"What's he doing now that he's got a bum knee and you're back with the ABT?"

Not sure I'll be back with the ABT. Maybe I'll move back to Texas and teach ballet. Maybe I'll join Julliard. Maybe I'll go back to Broadway. I have offers. "So you guys are going with Walt to Austin?" she asked, changing the subject.

Tim smiled, nodding slowly and whispering. "Yeah. We are." He pushed his sunglasses up on his forehead, leaning forward a little over his knees, his fingers draping together. He focused on her for a moment, whispering. "You don't like Walt."

It isn't that I don't like him. She just…she closed her eyes, sighing hard. "Tim, I…I'm glad you have a father, I mean…one of us should have one, you know?" she chuckled, tapping her fingers on the armrest of the porch swing. I just don't know if I still trust him quite yet. Or if I ever will.

She shook her head again, breathing, her eyebrow arching. "I don't know what he did with my father, if…if he had anything at all to do with it…"

"Soph."

"No, I just…" Let me finish, please. She set her jaw, whispering through her slightly parted lips, and focusing her eyes on Max. It kept her sane, so she wouldn't break down or anything while saying this. "If he had anything to do with it, I hope for your sake he didn't, but…each time I look at him, I wonder...and I just think, you know…you have a dad and he came back and you…you have him, you know?"

She turned her head again, looking at him. Her eyebrows wrinkled together to a point. She shook her head slightly. Don't pity me Tim, because I don't pity myself. "I didn't love my father. He wasn't a lovable person, but you loved yours so…I guess that's what matters, you know? Between the both of us, these two people who…"

These two completely abandoned people…kids, really, she thought, closing her eyes briefly. Her voice dropped to an almost inaudible whisper. "I love you Tim, I'm just happy you're happy and…and I don't hate Walt or anything, but…I guess I just don't ever want you to be hurt, you know? I don't have any more parents to come out of the woodwork to hurt me, but he can still do it and I don't want that."

I love you. You're my big brother. She rested her head on his shoulder, smiling. "Maybe it's not right to have the little sister taking care of the big brother, but I feel like it might be my turn."

Tim chuckled, dropping his head to hers, whispering. "You know, you don't have to protect me kid."

"Not a kid, Tim."

"No, you're not," he said, almost automatically, straightening back up, smiling. He brushed a kiss to her temple, whispering. "I love you."

"I love you too." Sophie tossed her hair out of her eyes again, squeezing his hand, her eyebrow lifting again. "I have some stuff I have to work on today, have fun in Austin."

Tim smiled, hugging her again, giving her hair another ruffle. He let go, smiling wide, his eyebrows lifting. "So am I right? Did I win the bet with Garrity? You going back to Russia or is it the Big White Way?"

"Great White Way, Tim. It's called the Great White Way."

"Whatever." He glanced over his shoulder as Walt pulled into the driveway, honking the horn on his truck. Max bounced in place, yelling for Walt. He didn't call him Grandpa. The kids just called him Walt, under their father's orders. And they rarely defied Tim.

Gotta' go, she could hear Tim saying, when he gave her a small smile. "See you in a few kid," he called.

"Stop calling me kid, I'm a married woman!"

"Not to me you're not."

You gave me away, you idiot, she thought with a laugh. There was the real wedding, in Noah's hospital room before we got married in the back, which was more for Lyla, Tyra, Mindy, and Annie than anyone else. The four of them ganged up on her demanding in no uncertain terms that they get to see Tim walk her down the aisle, wear a fabulous dress, eat a ton of cake, and of course, Annie had to be flower girl.

She just waved at him, watching as he ran off with his kid towards his father, climbing into the car and waiting for Walt before they backed out of the driveway. To go do whatever it was they were doing that day.

Sophie smiled, touching her fingers to her lips. She didn't need to protect him from Walt. Tim had done enough of protecting himself…he would be fine. She turned around, going into the house.

There had to be something to do around this place.

Hell, she thought with a dark laugh, it wasn't like there were any more parents to come knocking on the door to cause problems.

No sooner after she thought it, the doorbell rang.

"Oh son of a bitch," she cursed, turning around as Lyla came down the stairs holding Lya in her arms. The little girl had a head full of dark red ringlets, which were currently falling over her face. "Momma, stop!" she protested, trying to climb down.

Sophie reached for Lya, who didn't want to be held at all, and glanced at the front door, pointing. "I am not getting that door!" I probably just jinxed us.

Lyla rolled her eyes, walking to the door and pulling it open. "Who could it be? Not like there's anyone in Dillon anymore to cause problems." Her eyes widened at the reveal of the visitor. "Oh crap."

"Hey baby!" a woman with giant hoop earrings, long gray streaked hair, and tons of jeweled rings exclaimed, wearing what had to be a caftan and hemp shoes. She dragged a roller suitcase into the foyer, straightening up and frowning. "Is that how you say hello to your mother?"

"Mom," Lyla gasped, still clutching Lya, who appeared ready to burst into tears. Her voice squeaked. Her eyes were so wide that Sophie wasn't sure if she was genuinely surprised or was more petrified. "What are you doing here?"

Pamela Garrity just frowned at her, shrugging. "It's been years sweetie." She sighed dramatically. "Honey, this is just isn't right. I know Tabby more than I know you, I've barely even seen my grandchildren and Kevin and I are fighting, so I'm coming to stay with you!" She flung her arms out, laughing and grinning. "Isn't that just wonderful?" Her face darkened. "Where is my son-in-law?"

Sophie saw Lyla visibly gulp. "He's with his father," she mumbled.

"And your father? Where is that son of a bitch? It's just not right he knows the children more than me. Now, let me see my granddaughter! Hi baby, my name is Gigi!"

Lya instantly began to cry at the sudden commotion, blubbering for Tim, who was her favorite person in the whole world.

"Mom, stop it, she's scared."

"Why does she want Tim Riggins so badly?"

"Because he's her father!"

"And why is that darling? We're going to have to have some talks while I'm here."

Lyla turned her head towards Sophie, her eyes clearly screaming 'Help!'

Hey, you helped us with our parents; guess it's our turn to help you, Sophie thought, laughing when Lyla cursed again, before turning around and leaving mother and daughter to reacquaint a bit further.

**THE END (?)**


End file.
